Aftermath
by Valerie J
Summary: *COMPLETE* Harm discovers that running away to Vietnam when he was sixteen still has repercussions.
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1

Harmon Rabb found a small package on his doorstep when he got home, courtesy of the U.S. Postal Service. It was about the size and shape to be a videotape, wrapped in brown paper. He picked it up, noting the return address with a small pang of alarm. Colonel Stryker had gotten less sentimental over the years. He didn't contact Harm any more unless he wanted something.

With a resigned sigh, Harm went inside. He dropped his cover, keys, briefcase, and the package on the table, then went to change. Whatever Stryker needed could wait until after dinner.

A couple of hours later, Harm picked up the deceptively ordinry package and opened it. It did, indeed, contain a videotape. The label was a plain peel-and-stick affair with "Thought you might find this interesting," written on it in Stryker's familiar scrawl.

Frowning, Harm slipped the tape into his VCR, then settled on the couch, beer in hand. He pushed a button on the remote, then balanced the slim piece of electronics on his knee. The tape began to play a recording of a local-looking news cast. The call letters behind the anchor desk said "KYRO News", and the perky young blond manning the desk quickly informed him that he was watching Kansas City's best station for news, weather, and sports.

He'd just about decided that Stryker was playing some kind of bizarre joke on him when the newscast shifted to a local interest piece-- a native of the city who was currently top of her class at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. Harm straightened unconsciously. This was probably what the colonel wanted him to see.

The scene shifted to a different studio, one with the Naval Academy's logo splayed across the wall. Two women sat across from each other in the quintessential casual interview arrangement. One was very obviously the newswoman. She was in her mid-thirties, with stylishly long hair and an impeccable business suit. The second woman was much younger and wore a Navy uniform. She introduced herself as Audrey Le.

Audrey was strikingly beautiful in the same intelligent, no-nonsense way as Mac. Her features were Asian, but with large, dark eyes that were a bit wider than the norm. She wore her hair close-cropped in a playful cap that seemed well suited to her personality. 

Harm watched with only mild interest as the middie told her interviewer about life at the Academy, but his attention sharpened when the newswoman asked Audrey what she wanted to do in the Navy.

"I'm going to fly fighters," the young woman answered with a cocksure grin. "F-18s, to be exact."

Harm chuckled. "Good for you," he told the television image. Not many women had the drive or desire to fly combat aircraft, but this one, he thought, looked like she could do anything she wanted. She had that arrogant confidence.

"Now, you're originally from South Vietnam, correct?" the interviewer asked a bit later, with a glance at her cards.

Audrey nodded. "The village of Son My. My uncle brought my mother and I to the United States when I was four."

Harm remembered Son My, in the Quang Ngai province. They'd staged out of that village for about four weeks during the summer of 1980. 

He was so involved in his memories that he almost missed the next question.

"What about your father?"

Audrey's expression closed in on itself. She squared her shoulders. "He was an American who lived in our village for a little while. I don't know anything about him."

Harm's gaze snapped to the television. An American? Now that she said so, it was obvious. Her face was a little too wide, her eyes too round, her skin too pale, to be pure Vietnamese. His mind immediately started doing the math as a dreadful chill scrabbled up his spine. She was third year at the Academy, which made her age twenty-one, probably. 

Which meant she would have been born in 1981. 

Which meant she was conceived in 1980.

Harm closed his eyes, overwhelmed by a rush of memories. There had been a girl in Son My-- Le Lin, daughter of the man who'd let the two Americans sleep in his barn. Harm didn't remember much about her except that she'd had a beautiful laugh, and that she'd helped him forget another girl, one he thought had died for following him.

Harm opened his eyes. He stared at the television screen, unseeing, as the realization crashed down on him.

He had a daughter.


	2. [2]

Chapter 2

A.J. looked up at the sharp knock on his door. "Enter," he called.

The door swung open. Commander Rabb leaned into the office, still holding the door handle. He held a manila folder in his other hand and had a peculiar expression on his face. A.J. eyed him curiously. He didn't often see Rabb looking hesitant.

"Come in, Commander," A.J. told him. "Take a seat."

When Harm had done so, he continued, "What can I do for you?"

Harm raised the folder. "You wanted status on the Carter case."

A.J. folded his hands on his desk. "So I did." He listened as the commander described the salient details of the case, and though the younger man neither hesitated nor stumbled as he laid out the threads of the investigation and their possible conclusions and impact on the case, A.J. had the distinct feeling his lead litigator did not have his head in the game today.

When Harm had finished, A.J. nodded. "Thank you, Commander." In an unusual fit of curiosity, he decided to press a bit. "Is there anything else?"

Harm hesitated. A.J. watched with interest as the long-fingered hands flexed on the chair arms, the only visible sign of struggle within him.

"Yes, sir." 

A pause. Harm was obviously uncomfortable, and gave the impression of squirming in his seat though he never moved.

"Can I ask you a personal question, Admiral?"

A.J. raised both eyebrows in surprise and a little dismay. He didn't like personal questions. But if Harm were asking one, it had to be something serious. "Personal" was someplace the commander rarely went.

A.J. settled back in his chair. "You can ask, Commander." He wouldn't guarantee an answer until he heard the question.

Harm flashed a smile that faded quickly. He drew a preparatory breath. "What was it like when you met Francesca?" 

A.J. stared at him, thoroughly startled by the direction of the question. Why in the world would Rabb ask him about meeting Francesca unless… A deep suspicion began to form, one that would certainly explain the deer-in-headlights expression in the other man's eyes. 

Clamping down on his surprise, A.J. studied the ceiling thoughtfully. A smile crept across his face at the memory. "Well, it was probably one of the most terrifying things I've ever done," he admitted after a moment. "Here was this girl-- this beautiful girl-- who was my responsibility, and not only had I never done anything to fulfill that responsibility, I hadn't even known about it. I think I was convinced she would hate me." He risked a glance at Harm and found him staring at his superior in dismay. A.J. quickly tried to soften the comment. "Of course, Francesca was a grown woman by the time I met her… Children are much more unconditional in their acceptance." He watched Harm carefully, searching the other's face for confirmation of his guess.

Harm's gaze was hooded. "She's twenty-one, Admiral." 

A.J. choked a bit, staring wide-eyed at his officer. 

"You haven't been lying to the Navy about your age, have you?" he asked when he'd regained his composure.

He received another lightning smile that didn't go anywhere near the other's eyes. "No, sir." He paused. "Her mother is Vietnamese."

It took A.J. a moment to make the connection, but then he understood. They'd sat and swapped stories one day over beers-- himself, Harm, and a Marine sniper that had once saved A.J.'s life. For all that Harm had been there a decade later than the other two, his tale hadn't differed too significantly from theirs. The jungles of Vietnam had been a vicious place for all of them.

A.J. made his decision abruptly and sat forward. "Go see her, Commander. You'll regret every moment you don't."

Looking surprised, Harm nodded. "Thank you, sir."

A.J. waved the thanks away. Rabb would be useless until he met this girl, so it was hardly a matter of generosity. 

"How long should I expect you to be gone?" If he were going to be out of the country, reassigning his cases would cause some serious upheaval in the office.

Harm stood. "Only a couple of days I would think, sir." For a moment the guards in the other man's eyes fell away and A.J. got a glimpse of just how thoroughly he was reeling inside. "She's at Annapolis…" He blinked. "Wants to fly fighters."

A.J. chuckled in spite of himself. "Another Naval aviator?" He glanced heavenward. "Spare us." 

The joke drew a real smile. "Thank you, sir. I'll let you know my schedule when I have some idea what it'll be."

A.J. nodded. "Very well. Dismissed."

He watched as Harm came to attention and departed, staring at the door after it had closed. _Good luck_, he thought after the retreating commander.

#

Harm left the Admiral's office and hurried across the bullpen, fully intending to wrap up what he needed to and be on the road to Annapolis before lunch. He was so intent on his thoughts, however, that he nearly ran down his partner who was crossing the bullpen going the other way with a stack of books and folders piled high in her arms.

"Hey!" 

The sharp warning jerked Harm out of his reverie. He managed to grab Mac to keep her from falling as he plowed into her. They spun in a little circle, coming to rest with Harm's hands firmly grasping her waist, the pile of paperwork between them.

Mac's startled expression gave way to a smile. "Nice save, sailor."

He managed a strained smile in return. He released her, feeling self-conscious. "Sorry-- wasn't paying attention to where I was going." 

She cocked an eyebrow, her expression playful. "I noticed."

Harm didn't take her up on the unspoken invitation to flirt a little. Though it was one of his favorite pastimes, he was too consumed with the daughter he hadn't known about until yesterday to give Mac her proper due. So he didn't try.

"Can I help you with those?" he indicated her pile.

A brief, disappointed look crossed Mac's face, but she gladly handed him the top half of the load and continued toward her office. Harm followed her. He set his burden down on the whirlwind that passed for her desk, on top of a haphazard pile of things that needed to be reshuffled to other piles. That way it wouldn't interfere with her unique filing system. He turned to go.

"Harm? Are you o.k.?"

He turned back, meeting Mac's concerned gaze over the desk. "Yeah--" She gave him a doubtful look and he hesitated. Lying to Mac was a bad idea. "Well, no--" He broke off, uncertain how much he wanted to tell her. "It's… personal."

Mac's eyebrows hiked upward, forming two perfect crescents over her dark eyes. "Too personal to tell your best friend?" She bit her lip, then cocked her head to study him narrowly. Harm could tell she was hurt. 

He forced his hands to stay relaxed at his sides. The truth between them was always a difficult thing and the office was hardly the place to talk, but he hated seeing that expression on Mac's face. He'd let it go too often in the past, and paid the price for it.

"You're a little more than just my best friend, Mac," he said softly.

He watched her absorb that, uncertain how to label the new expression that took up residence in her eyes.

"Is this about a woman?" The question was sharp.

Well, she'd understood what he was saying at least, but how did he answer that one? He finally nodded. "But not in the way you're thinking."

When she didn't respond, he continued. "I'm taking a couple of personal days. When I get back…" He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know. When I get back I'm probably going to _need_ to talk to you about all this." He made an aimless gesture, struggling for words. "Just not until I know for sure."

Mac gave him a baffled look. "Until you know _what_ for sure?"

Harm shook his head. He wasn't ready to say it out loud. The Admiral had guessed, sparing him that, and he was grateful. 

He backed toward the door. "I need to get going. Call you when I get back?"

Mac pressed her lips together in a thin, frustrated line, but after a moment, she nodded. 

Relieved, Harm left. It took about forty minutes to put his affairs in order, and then he was gone, headed toward the parking lot and a future he was sure he was totally unprepared for.


	3. [3]

Chapter 3

When Harm arrived at the Academy, he went straight to the Aerospace Engineering Department. A pretty young lieutenant smiled up at him from the reception desk. Her smile dimmed as she took note of his JAG insignias.

"Can I help you, sir?" she asked, coming to her feet.

"Commander Rabb." Harm gripped his cover tightly. "I'm looking for a third year midshipman… Audrey Le. I believe she's probably in Aeronautics, though I don't know for sure."

The smile dimmed another notch. "Yes, sir. Midshipman Le is in the program." Her expression was one of curious concern. "Commander Seward is the department chair. I'll let him know you're here."

"Thank you." Uneasy, Harm wandered the confines of the small outer office while the Lieutenant picked up the phone at her desk. Photos covered the walls-- mainly pictures of aircraft. Harm smiled at a truly gorgeous shot of the Blue Angels.

"Commander Rabb."

Harm turned at the sound of his name. The door behind the lieutenant stood open, the empty frame filled by the broad form of Commander Seward. The commander reminded Harm of a bear. He couldn't have been more than 5'10" or so, but his build suggested he probably weighed as much as the tall aviator, if not more. His dark hair was shot through with silver, and his face the weathered look of a man who'd spent plenty of time in the field. He didn't look like an engineer at all.

"Commander." Harm nodded in greeting.

Seward gestured toward the office behind him. "Please, come in."

Harm followed him back into the office and stood before the wide desk while the commander settled himself in his chair.

Seward leaned back, bracing his elbows on the arms of the chair and lacing his fingers across his stomach. "Now, what has Midshipman Le done this time?" he asked. "Especially to warrant a visit from JAG HQ?"

__

This time? Harm couldn't entirely hide his surprise. "Nothing, as far as I know. I just want to talk to her."

"What about?"

Harm balked. He couldn't lie, but this was a subject he didn't want to broach. "It's personal, Commander."

Seward gave him a piercing look. Then his gaze dipped, taking in Harm's wings, his ribbons, and finally his Academy ring. "You're an Academy graduate?"

Harm nodded. "Yes."

"What was your major?"

"Aerospace Engineering."

The commander shook his head, a glint of humor in his gaze. "We waste more engineering degrees on pilots…"

Harm chuckled at that.

"What do you fly, Commander?"

"Tomcats."

The busy eyebrows rose a fraction. "JAG gets its own air wing these days?"

Harm echoed the expression. "No, just the services of one aging jet jock who also happens to be a lawyer."

Commander Seward's face broke into a broad grin. "All right. I don't think you'll have too much trouble with the midshipman. You'll find her in Lieutenant Commander Robnick's Stability and Control class-- Room 104."

Harm chewed on the enigmatic statement as he thanked the commander and took his leave. 

#

Harm stood just inside the door to the small lecture hall, listening unobtrusively. The room hadn't changed much in the seventeen years since he'd been one of the midshipmen seated in graduated rows in front of the lectern. A large projection screen took up the front of the room. The lieutenant commander stood in front of it, using a laser pointer to highlight portions of the six-degree-of-freedom equations of motion that were the bane of every third year aeronautics student. His voice filled the small hall. Harm scanned the darkened room, hoping to make out the face he'd come to find, but without success. His stomach suddenly felt like the butterflies were doing catapult launches. 

The instructor paused and looked toward the doorway. "Can I help you?"

Gathering himself, Harm stepped forward. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, Commander," he began.

"Not at all." The instructor smiled. "Was there a guest lecturer I wasn't told about?"

Harm stared at him blankly for a moment before he caught on. "Oh… no." He grinned a bit self-consciously. "I'm afraid all I remember from this class is how much I hated partial derivatives."

A twitter of laughter ran through the room. 

"I'm Commander Rabb, JAG Corps." Harm came forward as he introduced himself.

The instructor nodded in greeting, but his demeanor became distinctly more formal. "Commander. What can I do for you?"

Harm forced himself to hold his ground, though the large part of him wanted to bolt from the room. "I'm looking for one of your students-- a Midshipman Le."

There was a small stir in the second row.

"Midshipman Le, front and center!" At Commander Robnick's command, a young woman seated in the second row jumped to her feet and quickly went to stand at attention before the instructor. She was tall, Harm realized with a start. She stood nearly eye-to-eye with Commander Robnick, and was slender in a distinctly feminine way. Her face was the one he'd seen on the tape.

"Get your things, Midshipman," Robnick told the young woman.

"Yes, sir." Audrey Le gave Harm one curious, slightly alarmed look before returning to her seat to pack her bag. Then she returned to the instructor, standing at attention before him until she was dismissed. 

Harm waited quietly while the scenario played out, watching Audrey. He didn't see anything that definitively marked her as his daughter. She certainly didn't look like him, except for being unusually tall. Could he have been mistaken?

"Come with me, midshipman," Harm said once Commander Robnick had released her. Then he turned on his heel and left the hall. Driven by the many doubts and fears that plagued him, Harm paid no attention to his pace. He strode through the familiar halls, slapping his cover on by force of habit as he dashed out the door and down the steps. He exploded into the bright sunlight outside the building, took about four more steps, and then came to an abrupt halt because he didn't have the faintest idea where he was going.

"Sir?"

To his surprise, Audrey was right at his heels. She sounded more than a little concerned about the state of his sanity.

Harm took a firm grip on himself. "My apologies, midshipman." He risked a glance at her and was met by an unabashed stare. Her eyes were almost impossibly dark-- several shades deeper than Mac's, even-- and watched him appraisingly. "Let's walk the quad. We can talk as we go."

Harm resumed at a more sedate pace. Audrey fell in beside him.

"Sir, am I in some kind of trouble?" she asked after a minute.

"Not with me," Harm answered, his sense of humor reasserting itself. "Do you get in trouble often, Midshipman Le?"

"I find my share, sir." The corners of her eyes crinkled as she grinned. It was a fearless smile she showed him, one that transformed her face as if the full tidal force of her personality shone through that single expression. Sexy, confident, charming… had Harm not already had it in his mind that she was a blood relation, that smile would have floored him, age gap notwithstanding. He stared at her in shock.

__

Is that what my smile is like? He'd always taken for granted the power he seemed to have over the opposite sex with that one expression. Having it turned on him was quite an experience. It also erased the last of his doubts. 

With doubt gone, fear settled in. Harm looked away from Audrey, wishing he had some idea how to proceed. For a man known for his impassioned eloquence, words always seemed to fail him at the most inopportune times.

Harm absently returned the salute of a passing petty officer, his gaze focused in the distance. "I saw the interview you did with the local television station in Kansas City."

Audrey turned to look at him, not needing to tip her head upward much at all to meet his eyes. She was very nearly six feet tall, Harm estimated. She didn't say anything in response, though her expression was clearly curious.

Harm bit the inside of his lip, debating with himself, then sighed. There was no gentle or roundabout way to approach the subject. "This is about… your father."

Audrey stopped dead in her tracks, and in her eyes Harm watched an entire world shatter.


	4. [4]

Chapter 4

Audrey Le was an orphan.  It wasn't a pleasant fact, but one she had accepted long ago.  She had no one… and she belonged to no one.  From that realization she had built her life.  She'd set out to make her own way in the world without help from anyone, because there was no one for her to turn to.  Her uncle had provided for her needs out of a sense of family obligation, but never showed anything but distaste for his half-breed niece.  So, too, her aunt, and all of the neighbors in the deeply traditional community where she was raised.  

_Your father_.  With two words, the JAG officer upended Audrey's entire world.

For a moment, she simply couldn't breathe.  Her knees felt weak.  Instinctively, she staggered over to one of the stone benches lining the quad, dropping onto it before she could fall.  The rough stone edges bit into her palms where she gripped the seat.

"You know who he is, sir?"  She heard Commander Rabb's shoes on the cement as he came to stand in front of her.  She didn't dare look up.

"Yes."  To her surprise, the commander turned and sat down next to her on the bench.  The personal gesture made her more frightened, not less.  One of the reasons she liked the military was because there was always a protocol to follow-- a proper way to act in every situation.  The formality of military regulations gave her a sense of security that the commander had just violated.  She had to fight down the urge to scoot away from him.

Audrey bit her lip, steeling herself to ask the most important question.  "Is he alive?"  

 Commander Rabb gave her an unreadable glance.  "Yes."

Audrey stared at the ground.  She didn't know what to say-- how to react.  Was she supposed to be happy that the missing piece of her life had suddenly appeared?  What if she didn't like him?  What if he was a terrible person-- a criminal or a spy or something?  What if he didn't want anything to do with her?  Surely he had his own family somewhere.  And why was a JAG coming to tell her this-- a full commander no less?

A number of pieces came together in her mind.  Audrey raised her head to look at Commander Rabb.  "He's in the Navy, isn't he.  That's why you're here." It wasn't a question.

The JAG snorted in amusement.  "I can see why you're top of your class."  He nodded.  "Yes, he's in the Navy."  Abruptly, he stood and took two long strides away from the bench.  He stopped and stared across the quad, hands clasped behind him in an unconscious parade rest.  "But that's not why I'm here." 

Audrey watched him for a few moments, waiting for him to continue.  Dread filled her, weighting her down.  What could be so bad that it disturbed the high-level JAG they'd sent to talk to her?  

She took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders.  Well, whatever it was, she would accept it.  She had no choice.  Slowly, she rose to her feet, noting with abstract interest that she had to look up at the commander.  She didn't meet too many people taller than herself.

Audrey walked over to stand beside him, turning to look up into his face.  "Just tell me, sir.  I can handle it."

Commander Rabb gave her an odd look-- part amusement, part concern and part something else she couldn't quite identify.  "I'm glad one of us can."

He looked away then, as if unable to hold her gaze.  But before Audrey could ask for clarification of the enigmatic statement, he continued.  "Your mother's name is Le Lin, correct?"  Audrey noted that he'd said it the proper Vietnamese way, with the family name first.

She frowned.  "Was."

That earned her a sharp look.  "Was?"

Audrey nodded.  "Yes, sir.  My mother died in a car crash when I was eight."

She would have sworn she saw regret flash across the commander's face.  "I'm sorry."

It was Audrey's turn to look away.  "It was a long time ago."

"That doesn't necessarily make it hurt less."

She looked back up at him, surprised.  There was a wealth of pain behind the shadowed eyes, as if he understood what it meant to lose a loved one.  Perhaps he did.

As if in response to her thoughts, he explained, "I lost my father when I was six."

Audrey cocked her head, glad to be able to switch the conversation away from herself.  "What happened to him?"

A strange, deeply intense look came into the commander's eyes, frightening her all over again.  "He was shot down over Vietnam in 1969."

Audrey digested that.  She felt like she was standing on the thinnest crust of ice with this man, waiting for her footing to crumble.  Why, she wasn't certain.  

"Did he die?" she finally asked.

"Eventually."  He stared at her with that same penetrating expression for a moment, and then something seemed to snap inside him.  He shook his head sharply, raising his hands in an apologetic motion.  "Look, I'm sorry.  I'm doing a really poor job of this…"

Audrey barely heard him.  She was still stuck on "Eventually".  Her thoughts spun as the possibilities reared around her.

"Wait! Sir--" She held up a hand, too, trying to forestall him.  She didn't want him to say anything more until she was sure she was ready to hear it.  She felt like she couldn't catch her breath.  "Are you telling me that _your_ father is--?"

Commander Rabb started to laugh-- a ragged, humorless sound.  "...your father, too?"  He met her eyes for the barest moment then looked away.  "No."

Audrey let out the breath she'd been holding in a soft sigh.

"He's your grandfather."

She whipped around to stare at the commander.  He met her gaze, a helpless expression in his blue eyes.  "I'm your father."

Audrey gaped at him, stunned, then closed her mouth with a snap when she realized what she was doing.  A dozen questions collided in her brain, brawling amongst themselves for dominance.  She clamped her lips shut against them all.  

A wry smile lit his features as he watched her struggle with her reaction.  "That was pretty much my reaction, too."

Audrey studied him as she recovered her poise.  She hadn't really looked at the man behind the uniform, assuming he had come in an official capacity.  Now, though, she stared at him with unabashed curiosity.  She didn't see anything of herself in his features.  Blue eyes watched her from a handsome, but distinctly Caucasian, face.  His hair was dark--probably black, though she couldn't tell for sure because of his cover-- without sign of gray.  His face, too, showed little sign of aging, save for a few lines at the corners of his eyes.  Audrey would have put him in his mid-thirties, except…

"Are you sure, sir?"

He cracked a real smile at the blunt question.  Audrey sucked in her breath.  That smile…

He chuckled, sounding terribly amused.  "It's a shock to see, isn't it?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to say more.  All her life she'd taken flak for her "supermodel" smile, a tool she had learned to use with deadly precision when needed.  Seeing its origin was disconcerting.  

The commander seemed to sense her discomfort, and her need for some kind of explanation.  He looked back out over the quad, watching the middies bustling every which way toward their last class of the day.

"I spent about a month in Son My during the summer of 1980," he told her.  His gaze was focused in the distance-- both in time and space, Audrey suspected.  "I knew your mother then."  

_Knew _her?  That was quite the euphemism.  Audrey stared at him as a deeply buried anger began to surface.  Two sentences… It had taken him all of two sentences to encompass her entire existence, and the destruction of her mother's life.

"She was only fifteen!" It came out as an angry hiss.  

Commander Rabb turned to look at her.  He shrugged, jaw tight.  "I was sixteen."  For a moment his shoulders sagged and he sighed.  "I'm not going to make excused to you, Audrey.  I learned about you yesterday, and I wanted to meet you."  He spread his hands.  "So here I am.  I'd like to get the chance to know you.  But if you don't want to have anything to do with me, I'll respect that."

Audrey forced her hands to unclench at her sides.  His sincerity surprised her, but didn't alleviate the nauseating whirlwind of her emotions. She didn't know what she wanted.  How could she?  Right now all she really wanted was to run away until she could find a safe place to sort out her feelings.

Feeling small and brittle, Audrey drew herself to attention.  "May I be dismissed, sir?"  She met her father's gaze with as much fortitude as she could muster.  "I'm going to miss my Aerodynamics class."

His brow crinkled in an expression of pain which disappeared almost immediately.  He nodded once, his face a flat mask.  "Dismissed, cadet."

Audrey saluted and turned away, trembling.  She went to the bench to retrieve her bag then headed for her class as fast as her long legs would carry her.  She didn't-- couldn't-- look back.


	5. [5]

Chapter 5

Mac looked up in surprise at the knock on her apartment door. Who would be coming over at 2230? Other than Harm, that is, and he was gone for a few days on something so _personal_ he couldn't tell her about it. She sighed as she got up to answer the door. He probably thought he was protecting her by shutting her out, when in all honesty he was just driving stakes into her soul.

All such thoughts evaporated when she opened her door. Harm stood on the other side, looking utterly lost. His hair was mussed, as if he'd run his hands through it a dozen times, and his shirt, she realized, was only half tucked in. But it was the expression in his eyes that stopped her in her tracks. 

"Harm, what are you doing here?" The words popped out of her mouth before she could consider them.

Luckily, he didn't misconstrue. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure he'd even heard her, but eventually the blue eyes tracked on her face. He blinked.

"I… don't know." His gaze expanded to take in the doorway as if seeing it for the first time. "I'm not even sure how I got here." After a moment, he looked down at the keys dangling from his hand. "My car, I guess."

Mac stepped back without another word, opening the door to let him in. She was scared. In her experience, Harmon Rabb never came unglued like this. All she could think was that something really, really bad had happened.

Harm came inside, dropping his keys absently on the nearest bookshelf, and flopped down on the couch. He stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused. Mac sat down next to him, curling one foot up beneath her. She threaded her fingers together in her lap, then hesitantly reached over to lay a hand on his thigh.

"Harm? What's wrong?" Her mind filled with dreadful possibilities. "Did something happen to your mother? Frank? Sergei?"

He shook his head after a moment. "No, they're fine." His voice was faint.

Mac chewed on her lip. "Harm, you're scaring me. What's wrong?"

He jerked as if stung and swung around to look at her. His gaze focused on her face, lost and helpless. "I wouldn't know where to start, Mac."

"How about at the beginning?"

The dazed expression never changed. He stared right through Mac, toward something only he could see. His jaw worked silently.

"I ran away from home when I was sixteen. Did I ever tell you about that? I stole four thousand dollars from my mom and Frank's bank account-- used it to go to Vietnam." He squeezed his eyes shut. 

Then, without warning, he reared off the couch. "Nevermind. I shouldn't have come."

Mac jumped up, too, and grabbed his arm. "Wait. Yes, you've told me-- that you went, at least." She had the feeling he'd admitted more to her with the bit about stealing money from his parents than he intended. What that had to do with anything, though, was a mystery.

Harm tried to pull out of her grasp. "I should go."

Mac had to resist the temptation to stamp her foot in pure annoyance. "Forget it, sailor." She tightened her grip. "You're in no condition to drive."

"I'm fine."

"No."

"Mac—"

"I said no, Harm, and I meant it. I'll drive you home, if that's what you want."

"Then what'll you do?"

Mac rolled her eyes. "Well, I'll either catch a cab back here or I'll crash on your couch. I'm not leaving you alone right now."

He surrendered without further protest, which told her more about his mental state than anything else had. They left her place together and made the drive in silence. But by the time they reached Harm's apartment, he seemed much more himself. A subdued version of himself, maybe, but at least recognizable as the man she knew.

He took his keys back from her to open the door, and led her inside. 

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked as he walked over to the kitchen.

Mac slid onto one of the barstools lining his counter. "Hot tea?" Giving him something to do might make it easier to get him to talk in the meantime. She leaned over the counter as he produced the teapot. "Got any leftover chinese or anything?"

Harm flashed her an empty smile. "You hungry?"

Mac returned the smile with a good deal more warmth. "Always." She paused, deliberately casual. "How about you? Did you have any dinner?"

He stopped to think, teapot in hand. "Uh… I don't think so." He went to the sink, flipped on the water and held the pot beneath it. "I could probably whip up some pasta."

Mac grinned brightly. "Great." He was awfully easy to manipulate in this state, but at least it would get him fed without the inevitable argument that would have ensued had she actually told him he should eat. It would also keep him occupied in the kitchen for a while, making him an easy target for her gentle and tactful interrogation.

Harm was keeping watch over the pan of bubbling sauce when she made her first foray. "What was Vietnam like?"

He glanced at her, his expression hooded. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Mac."

She returned his gaze innocently. "Are you going to answer my question?"

He went back to his sauce, stirring it with a wooden spoon. For a minute, Mac was convinced he wasn't going to answer.

"Hot," he finally said. He glanced up. "I think that was the first thing that hit me. It was like standing in a sauna. The air was so thick you always felt like you ought to be able to see it. And it stank-- like rot. The vegetation was amazing. You couldn't see more than a couple of feet in any direction, it was so thick. It was as bad as being in fog." He paused. "Except fog doesn't shoot back."

Mac tried to imagine being sixteen in a place like that. Her own life hadn't been much of a picnic at that age, but no one had been trying to kill her, either. 

Oblivious to her thoughts, Harm continued. "When I met up with Colonel Stryker, the first thing he taught me was how to field strip an AK-- they were more reliable than M-16s, and easier to get. The second was how to spot mines and trip wires." He added pepper to the sauce with consummate precision. "My job was to scout the trails. About got myself killed a couple of times stumbling onto North Vietnamese lookouts, until I figured out how to spot them before they saw me."

Mac took a sip of her tea. "Then what?"

He shrugged. "We tried to go around them. We were there to look for MIA's, not take on the Vietcong."

"Did it work?"

He turned away, going to the cabinet for plates. "Most of the time."

Harm served up the pasta and set a plate in front of her. He came around the counter to sit beside her with his own.

Mac dug into her food, wondering where to go next. Everything Harm had told her had been delivered in a flat, emotionless voice-- the one he used to recount any painful memory. It was also the same voice, she realized, that he used to explain to people why he was a JAG with wings. Knowing him as well as she did, she had the feeling they were fast approaching the limit of what he would be willing to say.

"Can we drop this subject?" Harm asked just as she opened her mouth for another question. Yep, she knew him pretty well.

Mac sighed. "Temporarily, at least." She leveled her fork at him. "You still haven't told me what happened that's got you so upset, though."

He looked away for a long moment. "The _real_ answer to that is someplace I don't think I'm ready to go," he said softly. He turned and slid off his stool. "But here's the start of it."

Mac turned, curious, as he went over to the little TV he kept for reviewing tapes and occasionally watching the news. He picked up the remote, flicked the television on to some political show. Mac walked over to join him. The show disappeared in a flash of static, replaced by a newscast. A timestamp in the corner told her this was from a tape.

She glanced at Harm. He was staring intently at the TV, his expression unreadable. Mac held her tongue for the moment and watched as the news gave way to an interview with a beautiful middie from the Academy. The volume was too low for her to make out any of the questions or answers, but from the deep crease that had appeared between Harm's brows, she guessed this what he wanted her to see.

"Who is she?"

Harm flexed white-knuckled fingers on the remote, so hard she was afraid he might break it. That, however, was just an echo of the titanic struggle taking place behind his eyes.

"My daughter."

For a moment, Mac forgot to breathe. She stared at her partner, shocked, as her mind began to race. She put the girl's age and their strange conversation about Vietnam together in a matter of seconds.

"How long have you known…?" She trailed off, uncertain she wanted to know the answer.

Harm turned the television off and dropped the remote onto the couch. "About twenty-four hours." He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Jeez, was it really only yesterday…?" The question wasn't directed at her. He sat, staring emptily into the distance.

Mac forced herself to sit down beside him. "Was that where you were today?"

He nodded. "She doesn't want to have anything to do with me. Not that I really blame her."

Mac winced. She hated that self-deprecating tone. She nudged him with her shoulder. "Hey, stop it. She's probably in shock, just like you." _And me_, she added silently. But for now she would just have to suck it up because Harm needed her-- a lot more than she needed to indulge her feelings over something that didn't directly involve her.

Harm looked up, a dim light of hope in his eyes, and Mac congratulated herself for finding the right thing to say. "You think?"

She nodded with a lot more confidence than she felt. "Sure. Give her some time to get used to the idea. I'm sure she'll want to get to know you."

Mac suddenly found herself engulfed in a hug. "Thanks, Mac."

Trapped against his chest, she closed her eyes, savoring the play of muscle beneath her cheek. The unique masculine smell of him assailed her senses, and she drew a deep breath to help dispel the cold knot in her stomach. No matter what, nothing would ever be the same again.

"What's her name?" Mac asked, hoping the question wouldn't shatter the rare intimate moment.

Harm's arms tightened around her. "Audrey."

"That's pretty."

"Yeah." The crushing grip loosened, but didn't disappear. "Mac?"

"Yeah?" She didn't want to pull away to look at him.

"Will you… will you stay here tonight?"

Mac couldn't help the rush of warmth that spilled through her. It was as close as he'd ever come to admitting outright that he needed her. She smiled into his shirt. "Of course."

She felt his cheek settle on the top of her head. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."


	6. [6]

Chapter 6

Mac walked out of her office just in time to see Petty Officer Tiner come to a stunned stop in the middle of JAG Ops, his jaw sagging as he stared toward the entrance to the bullpen. A few feet away, Gunny noticed his reaction and turned curiously, only to freeze as well. 

With a snort of amusement, Mac turned to look at what had attracted such obvious attention from the two men. Her stomach clenched into a small, hard knot. The young woman who stood uncertainly in the doorway couldn't have been anyone but Audrey Le. She was dressed in civilian attire-- fashionably tight jeans and a soft sweater that only accentuated her exotic beauty. 

Before Mac could react, Gunny stepped forward. "Can I help you, miss?" he asked with all appearance of helpful concern. But then, Victor Galindez was a gentleman in every sense of the word, and a credit to the Marine uniform he wore.

Audrey nodded, her gaze sweeping the bullpen. "I'm looking for Commander Rabb."

A swift expression of disapproval crossed Gunny's face before disappearing. "Of course." 

Mac didn't have much trouble guessing what he was thinking. She jumped forward to intercept the two before Gunny's misimpression could gain momentum. "Hi. You must be Audrey. I'm Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie." She held out her hand. "I work with Commander Rabb."

Audrey shook her hand. "It's nice to meet you, ma'am."

Mac turned to Victor. "Audrey is third year at the Academy, Gunny. She plans to become a naval aviator."

Victor raised his eyebrows, but seemed relieved that there was some other reason for such a young and beautiful woman to be looking for Harm. Mac gave herself a mental pat on the back for squashing _that_ bit of scuttlebutt before it could get started.

"Did my-- did Commander Rabb tell you that?" Audrey seemed a bit unnerved by the idea.

Mac met her gaze and nodded. "Yes. The Commander is in court right now, but they should be getting out any minute. You can wait for him in his office if you'd like," she went on before the young woman could say something too revealing. Harm hadn't said a single thing about his daughter after the night he'd appeared on Mac's doorstep-- not to her or anyone else, as far as she knew. She doubted he wanted that information spread indiscriminately around the office. 

"There he is now, ma'am." Gunny looked past Audrey toward the doors fronting the bullpen.

Mac and Audrey both turned. Harm had just come through the doors, briefcase in hand. He and Sturgis were talking animatedly as they walked, but then Harm looked up and spied Audrey. He stopped dead in his tracks, an unadulterated expression of surprise filling his face. Sturgis paused as well and looked curiously between the two parties. Like Mac, he knew Harm and understood instinctively when something important was happening.

Harm shook himself into motion after a long, frozen moment. "Audrey--" He sounded utterly and completely shocked, but in the three strides it took to cross the distance to her, he somehow managed to replace the shocked expression with a smile of greeting. "It's good to see you. What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in class?" The questions tumbled out.

Audrey met his gaze, her expression perhaps a little more challenging than friendly. "Thanks, I'm looking for you, of course, and I requested a couple of days of liberty, in that order." She flashed him an absolutely dazzling smile. "Sir."

Looking nonplussed, Harm gestured with his briefcase. "We can talk in my office. This way."

Audrey nodded and followed him. Harm closed the door behind her. Through the open blinds, Mac saw Audrey reach out to touch the F-14 model that sat on Harm's desk, her stance questioning. A moment later, the blinds closed.

"Why do I get the feeling there's quite a story there?" Stugis asked of no one in particular. He glanced at Mac.

Just then Lieutenant Singer breezed past. "Does anyone else think she's just a little too _young_ for the commander?" she asked in a snide undertone.

Mac felt a flash of fury that she quickly buried. Anger didn't work on Singer. "Actually, it's the other way around," she told the lieutenant's retreating back. Singer paused and turned, one eyebrow rising in disdainful curiosity.

Mac met her gaze. "_He's _a bit too young for _her_." Giving the other woman a superior smile, Mac headed back into her office. Let Singer chew on that for a while. She settled into her chair and bent her head over her work, ears tuned for the sound of her partner's door opening.

#

Audrey walked into her father's office, projecting as much confidence as she could. She didn't want him to see how much it had cost her just to come here. But she had too many questions she needed answers to-- she couldn't stay away.

She looked around. It wasn't a big or fancy office at all. Just a standard, nondescript room lined with filing cabinets and bookshelves. A few pictures hung on the walls, the most prominent a print of a carrier at sea, her deck filled with aircraft and two Tomcats powering into the air just after catapult launch. A broad desk took up most of the available floor space, covered with manila folders and piles of paper. A nice F-14 model stood on a stand on the desk's near corner. Audrey's gaze jumped to the low filing cabinet that lined the space behind the desk, beneath the window. Its top was taken up by a cluster of framed photos at one end, a fighter pilot's helmet at the other. The helmet had the call sign "Hammer" stenciled on it. It looked almost new.

A number of thoughts collided in Audrey's mind. She'd seen the wings on his uniform, but hadn't really expected this. He was a JAG, after all. She'd assumed something… tamer. She walked over to the model F-14, reaching out to run a finger along the aircraft's leading edge. "You fly Tomcats?"

He walked around behind his desk, but didn't sit. "Occasionally." His voice held a harsh note that softened at his next words. "You didn't realize it was in your blood, did you?"

Audrey looked up sharply at that. His smile was bittersweet. "You are… or will be a fourth-generation naval aviator," he told her. "Not too many people can say that."

In a strange way, the comment touched Audrey the way nothing else had. Family… ancestry… were very important concepts to the Vietnamese people, something Americans usually had no clue about. And yet, not five minutes into the second conversation of their lives, her father was telling her about her family's past. Honoring them, and her.

"I would… like to hear about them sometime." She gave the little Tomcat a final, almost reverent caress. In it she had found a link connecting her to this man, and that was important to her.

Her father uttered a wry snort. "It's a pretty strange story." But he didn't elaborate. After a moment, he gestured for her to sit. "Please."

Audrey did so, deciding not to ask any more questions about family for the moment. She was curious, but there were more important matters to talk about first. The commander sank into his chair as well, leaning his elbows on the desk, hands clasped in front of him. The sea-blue eyes settled on her face, not demanding, but interested. A neutral, accepting stare that expected nothing, but requested everything. Audrey literally felt like he was composing himself to listen to her for however long she chose to talk and no matter what she chose to say. 

Audrey stared back at him, unnerved. No one had ever made her their sole focus the way he was doing now. It was a bit overwhelming. 

Audrey struggled for something to say, as the silence grew thick around them. She'd come to JAG with questions and demands burning a hole in the back of her throat, but now she couldn't manage to conjure forth a single one.

Her father was turning out to be a difficult man to hate.

He broke the silence finally. "I'm glad you came, Audrey. I had just about convinced myself you didn't want to see me again." His gaze held a level of honesty that both surprised and frightened her. 

She bit her lip, but decided that since she had come all this way to have this exact conversation, it would be foolish to back out of it now. "I don't know what I want," she told him. "But I thought the first step ought to be to make completely sure… with proof…" She trailed off uncomfortably.

His smile said he understood her discomfort. "You mean a blood test?"

Audrey nodded.

He leaned back in his chair. "Well, that's completely reasonable, and probably a good place to start." 

"When?"

He glanced at his watch. "I can probably break free now, if you want. I'd just have to clear it with my CO."

"O.k." Audrey nervously rubbed her palms on her jeans as she rose to her feet. The commander stood with her and reached for his phone. A short conversation with "the Admiral"-- was that _the_ Admiral, the Judge Advocate General of the Navy?-- later, and they were ready to go.

As Audrey turned toward the door, a new thought struck her. "Do they know about me?" She cocked her head toward the bullpen, invisible beyond the drawn blinds.

Her father frowned. "Mac and my CO do, but they're the only ones so far."

Audrey wasn't sure whether to be pleased or hurt by that, and didn't like the fact that she cared one way or the other. 

"Who's Mac?" she asked instead.

Her father smiled fondly. "Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie-- the woman you were talking to when I walked in."

Audrey immediately sensed an undercurrent there. Maybe they were involved? He wasn't wearing a wedding ring, so it might not be too far-fetched a supposition. The idea sparked a host of ambivalent feelings.

"Is she your girlfriend?"

Her father's head snapped around. "What in the world makes you say that?"

Audrey backpedaled mentally at his outburst. He didn't sound angry, exactly. Exasperated? All she knew for sure was that she'd stepped into something she probably didn't want to get involved in. After all, he had his own life. She kept telling herself that.

She raised her hands, palms out. "Sorry."

The word lacked sincerity, but he didn't seem to notice. He sighed, dismissing the need for apology with a wave. "No, it's all right. I'm sorry for snapping at you." He gave her an aggrieved look from under his eyebrows. "It's just that sometimes I feel like I must have 'I love Sarah MacKenzie' stamped on my forehead--" He stopped short, paling, and squeezed his eyes shut. 

Audrey stared at him, mystified by the odd behavior.

After a moment, he reopened his eyes, fastening an intense gaze on her. "Don't ever repeat that," he told her, his voice toneless. "That's an order."

Audrey still had no idea exactly what she'd stumbled into, but decided she would be wise to let the subject go. "Yes, sir."


	7. [7]

Chapter 7

They went to Bethesda. Laboratory services didn't require an appointment, so they found themselves at a small reception desk outside the lab, waiting for the young petty officer there to notice them.

She eventually looked up with an apologetic smile. "Can I help you?"

Harm opened his mouth to answer, but the words lodged in his throat. This was going to be awkward at best, and extremely uncomfortable at worst.

The silence stretched. Audrey shook her head, giving him a sidelong look that could have held contempt or simply amusement. She turned to the waiting petty officer.

"We need to have a paternity test done."

The petty officer nodded, calling up a menu on her computer. "And the child's name?" She looked between them expectantly. Harm resisted the temptation to roll his eyes.

Audrey straightened her shoulders, unconsciously raising her chin. "I'm the child."

The petty officer gave her a mildly surprised look, quickly buried beneath her professional veneer. 

Audrey's demeanor didn't change. "My name is Audrey Le, spelled L-E."

The petty officer typed the name into her computer then looked back up at Audrey. "And the probable father?"

Harm forced himself to speak up. "That would be me. Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr."

This time the petty officer couldn't hide her surprise. Still, she said nothing as she entered more data into her computer. 

Finally, she looked up again. "In this kind of DNA matching it's very helpful to also have a blood sample from the mother, if possible."

Audrey's expression closed in on itself. "She died years ago."

The petty officer nodded, giving Audrey a brief, sympathetic smile. "All right, then. Since you're both in my records here, that's everything I need. Please have a seat and they'll call you when they're ready."

Harm and Audrey walked over to the row of chairs that passed for a waiting room. Harm collapsed into one, feeling far older than he, apparently, looked. His knee was acting up again, sending a twinge up his leg with each step. He stretched that leg out in front of him, massaging the offending area.

"What did you do to your knee?" Audrey asked. She remained standing, arms crossed and head down. Harm couldn't tell if she were staring at his leg or her own toes.

Harm leaned back in his chair with a rueful sigh. "Oh, I dumped a Tomcat in the drink about a year ago. Ejected around two-hundred feet." Memories overwhelmed him, bringing back the feel of the frigid water and the desperation of trying to keep his head above water. "Tore my knee up pretty good." With a small headshake, he banished the memories to their usual corner. 

Audrey looked up, her interest clear. "What's it like?"

He met her gaze. "Ejecting? Or treading water for sixteen hours in the middle of the Atlantic?"

She blinked, nonplussed. "Ejecting. They say it compresses you spine so much it'll take an inch off your height."

He barked a sour laugh. "If that were the case, I'd be 6'1" now." He shook his head, sobering. "It's not fun."

Audrey stared at him for what seemed like a very long time. Harm could see the conflict in her face and guessed that she wanted to hear the story but wasn't too sure how personal she wanted to get with him. The realization hurt. Harm didn't entirely understand how the opinion of someone he barely knew could matter that much. 

Eventually, Audrey came and sat next to him, leaning both elbows on the chair arm between them. "How many times have you punched out?" Curiosity had obviously overcome her reticence. 

"Three."

His answer got the expected response. Both eyebrows hiked upward in disbelief. "No."

Harm fought down a smile. "Yes."

"What happened?"

Harm's good humor evaporated. He was tempted to gloss over this part. He hated telling this story, but he couldn't hide the truth from her. He owed her that much. 

He sighed. "The first was a ramp strike in '91. I developed night vision problems because of a virus I'd had the year before, but it didn't show up until I was trying to land on the carrier on a stormy night." He stared at a point on the floor in front of him. "My RIO panicked and ejected us over the deck. He was killed. I cracked two vertebrae and shattered my hip. Spent a month in traction and another three learning how to walk again." Harm resisted the rush of memories. "The accident review board determined no fault, but I lost my flight status because of my vision."

Audrey studied him, unguessable thoughts turning behind her dark eyes. "But you fly now…?"

He nodded. "Yeah, though I think I'll save that story for another day, unless you'd rather hear about that instead of my other punch outs."

She cocked her head, obviously debating. Finally her expression cleared. "What was the second time?"

Now Harm smiled. "Ah, now that… that was when Mac and I stole a Russian MIG."

She stared at him incredulously. "You're kidding." 

He chuckled. "Nope. We got caught in a power struggle going on inside the Russian intelligence service. I stole the MIG to get us across Russia quickly, but it was a set up. There were a couple of fighters waiting for us."

She was hanging on every word. "What happened?"

"We'd barely gotten off the ground when they shot us down." He shook his head. "It's the only time I've ejected without getting seriously hurt."

"Why were you in Russia?"

Harm opened his mouth to answer, then closed it with a snap when he realized where the conversation would lead. He braced himself. "I was there looking for my dad—your grandfather." He shot a glance at Audrey, but her expression contained only curiosity. She didn't seem to have any more _real_ doubts than he did about her parentage. "There was evidence to suggest he'd been taken to the Soviet Union after his capture in North Vietnam." Harm pinched the bridge of his nose. "It turned out to be true. He escaped his captors while being transferred to a gulag in Siberia in 1980. He took refuge with a Russian woman and her brother, and was later killed by soldiers in 1981." 

Audrey was silent for a bit, but then she shook her head in wonder. "You've lived an interesting life… sir."

Harm snorted. "You're out of uniform. Please, call me Harm, or… Dad, I guess… if you want." _Dad? Did I just say that?_ He dropped his gaze, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.

There was a short pause.

"O.k. Dad it is."

Harm looked up in surprise. 

"Otherwise people will probably think you're my boyfriend, and that would be hard to explain," she added.

They stared at each other. Harm was completely at a loss for how to respond, but he was reassured by the fact that Audrey looked just about as startled as he felt.

The lab technician saved them. He stepped out into the waiting room, breaking the deadlock. "Commander Rabb, Cadet Le."

Harm swung around, surprised to realize that he knew the lieutenant. He stood, forcing a smile onto his face. "Lieutenant Elfman." He held out his hand. "Good to see you again." Elfman had been an expert witness for Harm on several occasions. 

Audrey rose as well, greeting the lieutenant when it was her turn. 

Lieutenant Elfman gestured toward the door behind him, his demeanor completely professional. If he was curious, he didn't show it. "If you'll both follow me, we can get started."

Harm nodded, gesturing for Audrey to precede him.

#

__

I must be out of my mind! Audrey's thoughts ran in confused circles as she followed the lieutenant back into the laboratory area. _What in the world possessed me to agree to calling him Dad? I don't even know for sure if it's true!_ She resisted the impulse to sneak a look at the man behind her. She didn't need to. She could already envision him in her mind's eye: the handsome naval officer-- tall, distinguished, and proud. A Tomcat pilot with some amazing stories to tell-- She cut her thoughts short. He was everything she'd always hoped her father would be. 

It scared her to realize that a part of her _wanted_ it to be true.

Lieutenant Elfman led them to a small room. The room was divided in half by a long table, with a single chair on one side and three along the other. Cabinets filled with medical paraphernalia lined the far wall. The lieutenant went around the table to sit in the single chair. Audrey and her father sat across from him.

The lieutenant opened the file folder in his hands, laying it out on the table. "Now, have either of you ever had this kind of testing done before?" He split his gaze equally between them. Audrey stifled a snort at the combination of terror and wounded pride that flitted across her father's face.

"No," they both answered.

The lieutenant smiled for a moment, and Audrey was struck by how attractive he was. She instinctively glanced at his left hand. Nope, no ring. It was too bad she was still in the Academy and couldn't even _think_ of asking him out. She pushed the errant thought aside. Her life was complicated enough right now, anyway.

Elfman's attention shifted to Audrey and for a terrified moment she wondered if he could read her thoughts.

"I know Commander Rabb already knows how this process works, but do you want me to go through it for you?" he asked.

Audrey glanced over at her father. "I thought you said you'd never done this before?" 

He shook his head. "Paternity issues come up in court from time to time. The lieutenant has testified for me on a couple of occasions. He's very good on the stand."

"Oh." Feeling foolish, she turned back to the lieutenant. "That's all right… I've done a lot of research."

Elfman accepted that. "O.k. Then the only question that remains is if it would be possible to get a sample of your mother's blood to use for matching."

Audrey felt a familiar, bitter pang. "I told the petty officer outside… she died when I was eight."

The lieutenant nodded. "I'm sorry." He seemed truly sympathetic. "However, that doesn't mean blood samples don't exist somewhere. Did she have a family doctor?"

Audrey forced herself to think. Her memories of her mother were often indistinct, which disturbed her. "No, no family doctor." The only doctor Audrey remembered from her childhood was the old man who sold herbal medicines from a little shop two blocks from her uncle's home.

"I'm sorry to ask this, but what were the circumstances of her death? Was she hospitalized at any time?"

Audrey glanced at her father. Did he care what had happened to her mother? His expression was guarded, giving her little insight.

She nodded. "She was in an auto accident, in Kansas City. She was in the hospital for a couple of days before she died, but I don't know which one." The smell of hospitals still turned Audrey's stomach to this day. She remembered all too clearly sitting in the waiting room with her aunt, terrified and not knowing what was happening.

Lieutenant Elfman nodded as he made some notes. "I can look into it for you."

"As I understand it, lieutenant, you don't _have_ to have DNA from both parents to do the test, correct?" To Audrey's surprise, her father spoke up before she could formulate a response.

The lieutenant nodded. "True, sir, but it makes things much easier."

"Would it be reasonable to ask you to go ahead and do the test just using my blood? If it's not enough, we could always look into getting blood samples from Kansas City later."

Audrey turned to look at him, not sure what to think of the proposal.

Lieutenant Elfman frowned, but acquiesced. "Of course, sir. Are you in a particular hurry?"

Audrey studied her father as he shook his head. "No. I just don't want to ask Audrey to dig up painful memories if she doesn't have to." He glanced briefly at her, his gaze shadowed.

Audrey was surprised by the gesture, but not sure how much it was worth.

Lieutenant Elfman was nodding. "Is that all right with you, cadet?" he asked Audrey. She managed a nod, and he went on. "O.k. I'll get right on it, then."

"When should we expect to hear from you?"

The lieutenant blinked absently, thinking. "At least forty-eight hours, sir. It depends on what I find."

After the lieutenant had drawn a blood sample from each of them, they left.

Back in the car, the silence grew uncomfortable quickly.

"You never told me about your third punch out." Audrey grabbed the first neutral topic that presented itself. Flying and the Navy seemed to be the only common ground they had.

Her father flashed her a false grin. "Yes, I did. I told you I dumped a Tomcat in the Atlantic last year-- tore my knee up in the process." His tone was light, but Audrey got the sense of deeper things hidden beneath. Things he didn't want to talk about.

So she pressed for a little more information. She wanted to see the bad side of this man, too. No one who had done the things he had could be as good as he seemed.

"Why did you go down?"

The question earned her a hard look, but one without any anger behind it. He turned his attention back to the road and the D.C. traffic. "It was a combination of factors-- an oxygen warning that kept us under ten thousand feet, bad weather prediction, and the mother of all storms…" He sighed resignedly. "But the real reason is because I was trying to keep a promise, stupid as that may sound."

That wasn't exactly what Audrey was expecting. "What promise?"

"That I would be back in time for Mac's wedding."

"Mac?" Audrey felt her cheeks flush. "Colonel MacKenzie 'Mac'?" After what he'd told her not to repeat… the colonel was married?

He must have guessed the direction of her thoughts. "She didn't end up marrying the guy," he told her.

"Why not?"

He bit his lip, expression pained. "For a lot of reasons."

Audrey stared at him, wondering if she was seeing what she thought she was. "Was one of them because you--"

"Discussion closed, Audrey." He cut her off, his tone curt. His eyes remained fixed on the road.

She sat back in hurt silence. 

They remained that way until the SUV pulled into the parking lot at JAG. The sky had begun to darken and most of the cars were gone. He pulled into the space next to her MR2 and killed the engine, then leaned his head back against the headrest and just sat there.

"I'm sorry," he said after a minute. He turned to look at her. "Everyone else knows the history between Mac and I--" His expression turned sour. "They know which questions not to ask. I… shouldn't have snapped."

Audrey cocked her head to study him. There were definitely some faults there, but she found it hard to be too angry with him for that. But still, he owed her, and owed her a lot for the past twenty-one years.

"I don't like unspoken rules," she said, finally. "I tend to ignore them." She would not have the same kind of relationship with her father that she'd had with her aunt and uncle. She couldn't stand to.

He gave her a sidelong glance. "I get the feeling you ignore some of the spoken ones, too, when it suits you."

Unexpectedly, Audrey flushed. She didn't get into _that_ much trouble.

He looked back out the windshield, chuckling. "Don't worry. It runs in the family."

She gave him a curious look and he shook his head. "Oh, no. Next time we get to talk about you."

Audrey chewed on the implicit statement that they would see each other again. "All right," she finally agreed. "I'll call you when I hear from the lab." She needed some time to digest the day's events.

He nodded in acceptance, though was that a bit of disappointment in his gaze? She wasn't sure and didn't dare ask.

"Goodnight, Audrey," he said as she turned to open her door.

She paused to look back at him. "Goodnight… Dad." Turning away, she quickly opened the door and got out without waiting for his reaction.


	8. [8]

Chapter 8

The internet was a wonderful thing, Audrey decided when her first search on the subject of _Harmon Rabb, Jr._ resulted in more than thirty hits. Since she had access to the Navy's intranet, most of those were from military sources. The _Navy Times_ jumped out at her from the list in several places. Around her, the library bustled with hushed intellectual activity as spring exam week neared. Audrey should have been hard at work studying—her structures class was going to knock her off her position as first in her class if she wasn't careful—but here she was combing the digital ether for information on a man she still wasn't certain she wanted to know.

Following the first link in the list, Audrey began to read. It was a _Washington Post_ article about the recent Tribunal of a suspected al Queda member involved in the September 11 attacks. Audrey's eyes widened in surprise as she read. Her father had been the lead prosecutor for perhaps the most important trial of the century? She really hadn't given much thought to him as a lawyer. After all, what was that in comparison to flying fighters? But apparently he was a very good lawyer. Wouldn't the Navy have appointed its best for something as important as the Tribunal?

More curious now, she went on with her search. The second link led her to a snippet in the _Navy Times_, noting Lieutenant Rabb's promotion to Lieutenant Commander. Further down the list was a similar entry noting his promotion to Commander. 

The next link ended up taking her to the Naval Academy's archives, to a picture of three midshipmen posed outside Bancroft Hall. The photo's caption put the year at 1984. In it, a young man Audrey didn't recognize had one arm thrown around her father's shoulders on one side and those of a young woman on the other. The woman looked an awful lot like her father's Marine colonel friend, but the caption beneath the picture listed them as, _Midshipmen_ _Harmon Rabb, Jr. (L), John Keeter (C), and Diane Schonke (R)._

"Hey, Audrey, whatcha up to?"

Audrey jumped, her heart skipping into overdrive at the unexpected voice behind her. She slewed around to stare guiltily at her classmate. "Hi, Brent."

Brent McClellan was another third year aerospace student from the same company as Audrey, a gangly, nondescript young man with brown hair and a kink in his nose from some childhood injury. He, Audrey, and Audrey's roommate, Kat, had teamed up for studying and homework. Each had a different strength. Audrey's was stability and control, Kat's was aerodynamics, and Brent's was structures. He was one of best friends she had.

He leaned down to peer at her screen, eyebrows rising as he took in the subject of her research. "You trying to figure out which of your predecessors you're going to have to outdo to win the title of Chief Troublemaker, USNA?"

"Huh?"

Brent chuckled. "The Terrible Trio." He tapped her screen. "Keeter, Rabb and Schonke. Supposedly, they're the ones that painted the Herndon Monument pink." He eyed her dubiously. "You have heard about that, haven't you? I know it was years ago, but still..."

Audrey stared at her friend. Of course she knew about the infamous "pinking" of the Herndon Monument. The Monument was a tall, dour gray spire of stone, somewhat reminiscent of a miniature Washington Monument. Each summer, the Monument was greased down and the other classes got to watch as the plebes figured out how to scale its fifteen or so feet of height. According to Academy legend, one year a group of midshipmen had painted the monument pink the night before the plebes were to scale it. Their color choice had ended up making the Monument look decidedly phallic, causing a colossal stir when the plebes arrived. Midshipmen had been trying for years to figure out how to duplicate the prank, but so far as she knew, no one had ever managed. For one, the Monument was visible to the watch and two, no one had ever been able to come up with a shade of pink that, when applied, had the same unique effect as the original.

Audrey bit her tongue against a smile, shaking her head. _See, it's not my fault at all. It's genetic._ She and Kat and a couple others from their company were engaged in an ongoing prank war with several members of a neighboring company. It was a great stress reliever.

Audrey turned back to her screen, aware of Brent still watching her with a curious expression. "I'm doing a little research on Commander Rabb. I… met him recently. Did you know he flies Tomcats?"

Brent wanted to fly as much as Audrey did. He hooked a nearby chair and sat down next to her to peer at the screen. "Anything interesting?"

"Not about flying, yet." She moved on to the next link on her list. It was a _Navy Times _article about a recent al Queda plot that had been foiled. She'd been skimming the page, but her eyes screeched to a halt when she found her father's name. She backed up a few lines.

"Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr., of the Judge Advocate General Corps in Washington DC, will receive his third Distinguished Flying Cross for his actions in leading the nuclear-tipped missile away from its intended target," she read aloud.

"_Third_ DFC?" Brent looked suitably impressed. He glanced at Audrey. "I thought JAGs were lawyers and such."

Audrey nodded. "They are. He is."

"So who in their right mind would give up flying fighters to be a JAG?"

Audrey chewed on her lip as she put several pieces of information together. "He said he had to give up flying because of night vision problems. He had a ramp strike… about ten or eleven years ago."

Brent gave her a piercing, suspicious look. "Why do you know so much about this guy?"

So far, Audrey had managed not to tell anyone, but the desire was a building pressure inside her. She leaned closer to Brent. "Can you keep a secret?"

His eyes lit with curiosity as he nodded.

"I'm… pretty sure Commander Rabb is my father." The words fell from her lips like stones, each one landing with a distinct thud. She hurried on. "I don't have the blood test results back yet, but--"

"Wait!" Brent's voice was a low, excited hiss. "Your father? Your American, my-mother-never-told-me-who-he-is father?"

Audrey nodded.

Brent stared at her. "Are you sure? I mean, what are the chances?"

Audrey shrugged. "I know. It's crazy, but it's true. He told me he was in Vietnam. That he knew my mom."

"So?"

Audrey felt a flash of anger at his insinuation. "How many Americans do you think there _were_ in Vietnam in 1980?"

Brent raised his hands in a peace gesture. "Not very many. O.k., I get your point." His expression turned to concern. "Are you sure he's telling the truth? About being in Vietnam, I mean?"

"Why would he lie?"

"You don't have a family fortune or anything, do you?"

"No." She gave him an odd look before turning back to the computer. Scanning through the remaining links, she found one that mentioned Saigon and quickly clicked on it. "Here, maybe this is it."

Once again Audrey found herself in a photo archive, this one belonging to ZNN. The picture that appeared on her screen was enough to take her breath away. It was a black and white photo, taken by a Chuck DePalma, according to the caption. The date was August, 1980. In it, a very, very young Harmon Rabb stared out at the camera. He was dressed in dirty green fatigues and a matching utility vest. His shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he wore a scrap of an American flag as a bandana. He carried an AK-47 loosely in his hands with the ease of someone long familiar with the weapon. But it was his expression that captivated Audrey. His blue eyes became colorless in the black and white world of the photo, staring out at her with such hardened anguish that it hurt to look at.

"Wow." Brent summed up her feelings in one word. 

Audrey reached out to touch the screen with trembling fingers. _This_ was her father. This… kid. He looked so young, so lost. 

Slowly, she reached for the mouse to send the image to the printer.

#

Mac stopped mid-sentence when Harm's office phone rang. She was trying to convince him of the merits of her plea offer, so she wanted his undivided attention. He flashed her a smile as he picked up the phone.

"Commander Rabb."

Mac settled back in her chair, listening absently to the one sided conversation.

"Hello, lieutenant… yes… o.k…. thanks for letting me know… I appreciate the quick turn around… yes… goodbye, lieutenant."

Mac raised an eyebrow in silent question as he set the phone back in its cradle. Harm stared at her for several moments, gaze unfocused. Then he shook himself.

"That was the lab at Bethesda."

Mac's stomach clenched. The moment of truth. She forced a smile. "Good news?"

His expression lightened with something Mac could only describe as wonder. "Yeah. They confirmed it. Audrey really is my daughter." A hint of a grin curved his lips, then a full-blown, magical smile appeared.

Mac knew it was wrong, but her heart sank. She held onto her own smile by force of will. "That's great, Harm."

"Yeah, it is, isn't it? I wasn't sure I was going to think so, but…" He sat up abruptly, reaching for the phone. "Do you mind if I get back to you on that plea offer?"

Mac jumped to her feet, instinctively smoothing her skirt. "No, of course not. Tell Audrey hi for me."

He nodded. "I will." He turned his attention to the phone. 

Unnoticed, Mac slipped out of his office, closing the door behind her.


	9. [9]

Chapter 9

Audrey didn't answer the phone. Of course. It was barely 1300-- she would be in class. Feeling like an idiot, Harm put the phone down again without leaving a message. He ought to let her make the next move, anyway. She had said she would call once they heard from the lab. The last thing he wanted to do was smother her. She deserved the space to make her own decisions about what she wanted their relationship to be.

Sighing resignedly, Harm set his mind on a far less pleasant task-- telling his mother the news.

#

Harm became more and more nervous with each ring of the phone. When it finally picked up, he was nearly speechless.

"Hello?" His mother's soft, mellow voice filled the open line.

"Hi, Mom," he managed after a moment. "It's Harm."

"Harm! It's good to hear from you. How is everything in DC?"

Gathering his patience, Harm grabbed the phone and headed for the couch. "Fine, Mom."

"How's Mac?"

Harm rolled his eyes. "She's fine, too."

"She really is a lovely girl."

"_Mom_. Don't start, o.k.?"

He could hear Patricia Burnett's smile. "All right, dear. I won't push."

__

Likely story. He sighed. "Mom, is Frank around? Can you get him on the phone, too? I… have something I need to talk to you guys about."

Sudden, heavy silence descended. Harm closed his eyes. His mother knew him well enough to know that he didn't make surprise announcements unless it was something momentous. And in their family's history, _momentous_ generally equaled _bad_.

"I'll go get him." Her voice held a fearful note. "Hold on, Harm."

"O.k."

Harm leaned his head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling until he heard Frank's voice on the line.

"Harm! It's good to hear from you. How are you?"

Harm patiently endured the same set of questions from his stepfather, minus the hints about Mac. Once that was done, Trish took over again.

"So, dear, what did you want to tell us?" Harm could hear the forced cheerfulness in his mother's voice.

Harm's mouth had gone dry. "I-- Where do I start?" He was afraid that Mac's _at the beginning_ would be a hideously bad idea in this case. He took a deep breath. "I guess the long and the short of it is… I have a daughter."

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end. Harm waited, upper lip clamped between his teeth.

"A little girl?" his mother finally ventured. He could tell she was still processing the idea. "Well, I'm in shock-- I guess that's no surprise, but… That's wonderful, Harm." She paused. "What's her name?"

"Audrey." He wanted to stop there-- let the misconception remain in place. It would be so much easier than telling her the rest. "But she's not exactly little."

He got another lengthy silence.

"I think you'd probably better just explain, Harm." That was Frank, his gravelly voice strong and even. 

Harm nodded even though the other man couldn't see him. Frank always faced issues head on. Nothing Harm had ever thrown at him had so much as caused him to flinch. It was something Harm both valued and respected about the other man, he was surprised to realize.

He braced himself. "She's twenty-one years old. Her mother, Le Lin… she is-- was-- South Vietnamese. I met her… that summer… when I was over there--"

Harm broke off at his mother's sharp intake of breath. He waited for his mother to say something-- anything-- until he couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"Mom?"

The static hiss of the open line seemed inordinately loud.

"Mom?"

__

Click. 

Harm's heart began to pound. "Frank?"

"I'm here, Harm." Frank's voice was as steady as always.

"She hung up." 

"She did." He sighed softly. "I'm sorry. This is hard for her."

"I know. I--" Harm shook his head sharply, his eyes burning. "I was hoping she'd understand."

Frank's voice was uncommonly solemn. "I'll talk to her. I'm sure she'll come around eventually." He paused, then went on in a far more conversational voice. "So, what's she like?"

Harm spent the next ten minutes telling Frank everything he could think of, from Audrey's position at Annapolis and her desire to be a fighter pilot, to her apparent penchant for trouble, to what little he knew about how she'd come to the States.

"It sounds like you have your hands full," was Frank's comment once he'd finished. Harm could hear the undercurrent of wry humor behind the words.

Harm smiled, but the expression died quickly. He stared at his feet, propped up before him on the coffee table. "Mom's still mad at me for going, isn't she?"

Frank's sigh spoke volumes. "She's still angry about a lot of things."

"I wish I understood why."

There was a thoughtful silence. "You're a father now, Harm. Maybe that will make it clearer, in time."

Harm decided not to push. He wasn't sure he wanted an explanation for the cryptic statement, anyway.

They talked for a little while longer, but there wasn't much to say. Harm was grateful when his stepfather ended the conversation.

"Goodbye, Harm."

"Bye, Frank. Thanks."

Frank didn't need to ask what for. Not hanging up or walking away when Harm got to be too much for his mother had always been his role, something they both recognized. "You're welcome." 

Harm took the phone away from his ear, letting his hand fall into his lap. He stared down at the molded plastic device. _Now what?_

#

Mac nibbled on her lip, hesitant to knock on Harm's apartment door. It was nearly midnight-- 2343 to be exact-- and this was probably the last place she wanted to be right now. But her best friend had called, asking her to come over, so here she was. It was part of her duty, under the Universal Code of Best Friendship, to be there for him no matter how much it might cost her to do so. 

In her heart of hearts, Sarah MacKenzie resented the effortless ease with which Audrey had gained entry to Harm's life, his heart. Whereas she still felt like she stood on the outside, looking in.

Cursing herself for a fool, Mac knocked. The door opened almost before she could draw her hand away, and she found herself face to face with the object of her thoughts.

"Hi," she offered with a weak smile.

Harm stepped back silently, ushering her inside. "Thanks for coming over. I know it's late."

"Since when has that ever stopped you?"

He smiled briefly. "Never."

Mac slipped out of her jacket, giving it to Harm when he held out his hand. "I take it your conversation with your mother didn't go so well?" She walked over to the counter, seating herself on one of the barstools. 

Harm followed, going to the refrigerator for a bottled water, which he set down in front of her. "She hung up on me."

Mac paused in the act of opening the bottle. For the first time she took in his hollow expression, the tension in his stance and the tightness around his eyes. 

"I'm sorry, Harm."

His expression didn't change. "Thanks." He leaned his elbows on the counter, strong hands toying with the edge of a dishtowel. "I guess I'd… hoped she'd be happy about Audrey." He glanced up without quite meeting her eyes. "As much as she rides me about giving her grandchildren to spoil--"

"That's different and you know it."

He was silent for a long time.

"I suppose I can't blame her," he finally said. He straightened and tossed the towel aside.

Mac just raised an eyebrow.

He folded his arms over his chest, the motion a cross between a shrug and a shudder. "I mean, I was gone for three and a half months. I didn't even leave a note to let them know where I'd gone." He stared at the floor. "I was afraid they'd find some way to stop me if they knew, so I didn't tell them. I just disappeared."

"Did they figure it out-- your parents?" Mac watched him closely for a reaction, but he never looked up.

"Yeah. I didn't exactly know how to hide my trail. But by the time they did, it was too late. I was already in country."

Mac drew lazy patterns with one finger in the condensation left on the counter by her water. "What happened when you got home?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harm flinch.

"Harm?"

He looked up, staring at her from under his brows. 

"What happened when you got home?" 

He looked away, eyes closing against some inner pain. "She slapped me." One hand rose reflexively to his cheek.

Mac stared at him in surprise. "Your mother?"

He nodded.

"What did she say?"

His smile was bitter. "She asked me if I'd found him. I said no."

"And?"

"She never mentioned it again."

"Oh, Harm…" Mac had no idea what to say. She wanted to reach for him, but wasn't sure how, or what his reaction might be. "I'm sure she didn't mean it."

"I know she didn't." He stared past Mac, toward something only he could see. "I just-- I guess I thought she'd be… glad I went… on some level, at least. I thought she'd be happy that _someone_ was looking for him, even if it was me."

"You don't think she wanted your father to be found?" Mac eyed him skeptically. 

He shrugged, a tiny jerk of motion. "Oh, I know she did." His gaze darted to hers, then away. "At the time, though, I think it convinced me that she didn't love him any more. That maybe she never really had." He gave her a hopeless look. "Otherwise, she would have been glad I was out there, looking for him." A deep furrow appeared between his brows. "She would have waited for him."

Warning bells began to toll in Mac's mind. Unaware of them, Harm continued.

He sighed. "Now, looking back, I know she made the right choice in going on with her life-- marrying Frank. He's a good man. Good for her… heck, even good for me. I can't say I wanted her to spend the rest of her life alone, but…" He threw his arms up in a gesture of frustration. "In a perfect world, she would have waited." His eyes on Mac were full of defiance. "And he would have come home."

Mac's breath froze in her chest as words from the past came back, echoing through her heart.

__

What was I supposed to do?

Wait.

For how long?

As long as it takes.

Suddenly, Sarah MacKenzie wanted to cry. In an instant of clarity she understood why Harm had refused her in Sydney… why, even now, after she'd offered a new beginning to their relationship, he'd done exactly _nothing_ to build on that offer… why he would not, and could not, let go.

Mac's thoughts drew her back to the Admiral's porch. Only once that night had he let his disappointment, his hurt, show through.

__

We had a deal. In retrospect, the accusation in his eyes-- the raw pain in those words-- was enough to make her blanch.

Mac could only shake her head. To Harm, she realized, the purity of love was defined by waiting. He'd clung to his love for his father, demonstrating it by the only means available to a child… he'd waited, patiently, believing his father would one day come home. When he'd gotten old enough, he'd gone in search, never once faltering in his belief that Harmon Rabb, Sr. was alive. And even when that failed, he continued to wait, to believe, until he finally found answers to his father's fate.

__

We had a deal.

The day baby A.J. was born, they'd made a deal, she and Harm. Five years. Mac couldn't believe what a blind fool she'd been. It had pretty much been a marriage proposal. _Just wait five years, Sarah, and I'll give you everything._ Because, by his somewhat warped definition, she didn't love him if she couldn't demonstrate her willingness to wait. And when she'd propositioned him in Sydney, he'd repeated it-- gently told her no, not yet, and asked her to wait. No doubt confused to no end why she was trying to change the timetable, she thought sourly.

So what had she done to him when she'd gone to Mic?

"Hello? Mac?"

Harm's face swam into view. Mac blinked, desperately grabbing hold of her reaction and the devastated swirl of her emotions. "I'm still here."

He gave her a dubious look.

She pressed her lips together. "I was… having an epiphany."

"Those any fun?" His brows quirked with a touch of humor.

Mac drew in a ragged breath. "No."

Harm stared at her for a long moment. "This is turning into a really strange conversation. What are we talking about?"

She forced her emotions down. "You going to Vietnam."

"Is that what you were off in space thinking about?"

Mac looked down at her hands. "No, but it's a subject for another day."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

He continued to stare at her.

"Drop it, Harm." She bit her lip. "Please."

He relented with an easy shrug. "O.k."

Mac spent a moment regaining her composure. She could not cry. Not today. Not right now. Harm had called _her_. If she broke-- showed any sign of neediness-- he'd slap on his emotional armor so he could be strong and take care of her. She'd lose this opportunity to pry him a little bit out of his shell.

Looking into his shuttered, concerned eyes, she sighed. That opportunity was already gone.


	10. [10]

Chapter 10

Mac sat in her office, tapping the end of her pen against the desk in a sharp tattoo as she stared at her computer screen. She'd been staring at the same screen for a while now, not really seeing it as she kept a surreptitious eye on her partner through the open blinds fronting her office. He'd been gone all morning on an evidentiary discovery and had just returned. Now that he was back, Mac was starting to get a little nervous about what she'd done.

It had been almost two weeks since her sudden enlightenment on the subject of Harmon Rabb, Jr. If men-- in general-- were from Mars, she'd come to the conclusion that this one had to have come from Pluto or some further dimension. So today she had decided to make her first attempt at communication in Plutonese.

Harm stayed out in the bullpen for a while, talking with Singer who sat second chair for the case he was currently prosecuting. Mac frowned. He wasn't going to be in the best frame of mind when he got to his office. Maybe if she slipped over there right now she could grab the little post-it she'd left on his computer screen before he noticed-- the one that said _614 days…and counting_.

Just as she started to push her chair back, Harm turned and headed into his office. Mac froze, watching as he tossed his briefcase and cover into a nearby chair and flopped into his seat. He ran a hand through his hair, obviously frustrated, before leaning forward to look at his computer.

She watched as he slowly reached up to take the post-it off the screen, his eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement. He had to recognize her handwriting, Mac thought. Now all that remained was for him to do the math to figure out that little A.J.'s fifth birthday was exactly six hundred and fourteen days from today. 

After a moment, his hand went to the mouse, calling up either a calculator or calendar, she guessed. His gaze went back and forth from the post-it to the screen, until he came to some kind of conclusion. He sat back so abruptly that his chair rolled backward, coming to rest against the wall of his office.

Mac quickly bent over her own work, afraid to be caught watching him. She didn't have to wait long. Harm appeared in her office doorway, post-it note still tacked to his fingertips. He kept one hand wrapped around her doorframe as if it were an anchor preventing him from being drawn into the room.

"What is this?" he asked, raising the innocent-looking square of yellow paper. His expression was bewildered rather than angry, an emotion that turned the lively blue eyes into depthless pits.

__

Well, you've gone and done it now, MacKenzie. Gathering herself, Mac met his gaze. "I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten," she answered, projecting a great deal more calm than she felt. Her heart was pounding.

His eyebrows rose in a silent "Oh". He glanced at the post-it once more then his head turned toward the bullpen. The rest of his body followed, more because it was attached than from any conscious command. Looking dazed, he wandered back toward his office, drawing to a stop just in front of the door.

Mac sucked in a slow breath. It wasn't exactly the reaction she'd been hoping for.

Harm stood in his doorway, staring blankly at the interior of his office until he started to draw the staff's attention. People hurrying by had to skirt his still figure, eying him warily as they did so. 

Abruptly, Harm came alive again. He straightened, spun on his heel and strode back to Mac's door. She stared with a growing sense of dread as he marched in, shutting the door behind him. Her fingers tightened around the pen in her hand until she felt it start to bow beneath the pressure.

"What is this?" he asked again, this time reaching across the desk to set the post-it down in front of her.

Mac wanted to bolt—just grab the note and run, as far and as fast as she could. She could mail the Admiral her resignation and never set foot inside JAG headquarters again. She pushed the temptation down with an effort. She'd left the note for the express purpose of provoking a response. Now she had to deal with whatever she got.

__

Suck it up, Marine. Mac forced herself to open her mouth.

"Is our deal still on?"

He stared at her, caution growing in his eyes. "Do you want it to be?"

Mac's heart sank. Why did he always have to answer a question with a question? Was a concrete answer too much to ask for? She growled in frustration, a low noise in the back of her throat.

"'Tell me', 'No, you tell me first'." She turned her voice into a childish whine as she mimicked the merry-go-round of questions. "Can we _please_ stop acting like first graders here, Harm? Just once?"

His face shuttered, closing away whatever she might otherwise have read of his emotions. "What do you want from me, Mac?" The words were flat.

She took a deep, steadying breath. She needed the time to get control. Otherwise she was afraid she would start screaming.

"I just want to know if the offer is still good." Each word sounded harsh, forced. It was taking everything she had to make her mouth form intelligible words. "Is that so much to ask?"

He considered her impassively. Then his brows arched in a careless shrug. "None of the conditions that would invalidate it have been met, so I suppose it still is." He cocked his head. "Why? Is your biological clock starting to ring again?" A teasing note had crept into his voice.

Mac wasn't sure if he was brushing her off or just searching for some kind of safe ground to stand on. 

She forced her mouth to form a smile. "Something like that."

They stared at each other in silence, which Harm eventually broke. "I answered your question, now you have to answer mine." A guileless shrug accompanied the words. "Fair's fair, after all." His gaze fell away.

Mac bit her lip. She didn't need to ask which question he meant. It was hardly fair, though. He'd managed to answer without giving her any true inkling of how he felt about it. She wouldn't be able to do the same.

__

You started this, she reminded herself. 

"Yes," she finally told him. "I want it to still be good."

Harm's head snapped up, eyes centering on her with what Mac would have sworn was outright incredulity. But the unguarded expression disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving her uncertain what she'd seen. 

He shook his head slowly. "I don't understand you, Mac."

Mac couldn't quite stifle her snort. "I guess that makes us even."

After a short, uncomfortable silence, Harm turned to go. He left her office and walked straight to his own. Mac watched through the blinds as he closed his door and collapsed into his chair, eyes fixed straight ahead.

Quietly, she got up, closed her own door once again, then twisted the blinds shut for good measure. Locked in solitude for a few moments at least, she returned to her seat and put her head in her hands. _What did I just do?_

#

Harm's head was spinning. What was Mac doing? He'd just about gotten comfortable with the knowledge that there would never be anything more than friendship between them when she pulled _this_. 

He picked up his pen, only to throw it down with a low curse. He'd known for a long time that Mac didn't want a serious relationship with him. Now, she would undoubtedly jump into bed with him if he made even the slightest overture-- something that made their friendship a bittersweet torment at times-- but a _relationship_…? No, she'd made it clear on any number of occasions that she was uninterested.

He paused. Maybe _uninterested_ wasn't the right word. Maybe _incapable_ might be better. Or at least more realistic. 

In the past, Harm had tried to get her to see how badly she sold herself short when it came to love. _…when a man looks at you and sees something of value, you push him away… a man shows interest and you're ready…_ Every time she'd dismissed the comment or ignored it, and he wanted her too badly to trust his own opinion about himself in the matter, so he'd never pushed.

The truth, he suspected, was that Mac didn't have any idea how to go about having a permanent relationship. Her parents certainly hadn't given her much of a role model to follow. And to him, the fear that she would make herself his and then someday walk away was too much. He wasn't willing to take the risk until he was sure. But she'd never given any indication that she _wanted_ something permanent, let alone that she was willing to take the time to make sure they did it right.

He sighed. For a while there, he'd started to believe she did want the same things he did-- a home, a family, a relationship. Standing on the steps of JAG, watching the ambulance pull away with Harriet and baby A.J., he'd started to really believe. 

Maybe the fault had been his own. Leaving to fly… maybe he had convinced _her_ that he wasn't serious. He wasn't sure how, exactly, but all the evidence seemed to point to that as the event that shattered everything. How his duty station figured in to their future together, though… He shook his head. Even if he'd stayed with an active squadron longer than he had, he wouldn't have been able to fly combat much past the age of forty, which was all right with him-- most of the time, anyway. He wouldn't have wanted to miss that much of his children's lives if he could help it. But somehow, his six months at sea had changed everything. 

And then there was BugMe. Mic Brumby. Mac had come within _hours_ of marrying the man even though she didn't love him, and the only conclusion Harm could draw from the whole sordid affair was that she really did want a permanent relationship despite all earlier indications to the contrary… with someone, at least. 

__

614 days and counting. Could she really want to try walking that road again? He was almost afraid to hope.

His phone rang then, interrupting his frustrated thoughts. He reached for it, grateful for the distraction.

"Commander Rabb."

"Hi, Dad. It's Audrey."

Harm couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. They'd talked a few times since the blood test results came back, but Audrey had been wrapped up in her spring exams and hadn't had much time to spare. It amused him that she always identified herself, even though she was the only person in the world that would call him 'Dad'.

He leaned back in his chair. "Hey, how did your exams go?"

They talked for a while about the horrors of spring exam week, her roommate, his latest case. The conversation was awkward in places, but not too bad, all things considered.

"So, are you free this weekend?" Harm asked when he got the chance. He hadn't wanted to intrude on time he knew she needed for schoolwork, but now she should, hopefully, have a little to spare.

"Yeah." There was just the faintest trace of hesitation in her voice. "Do you want to come up?"

Harm chose to ignore the slight catch. At the moment, this was the only relationship in his life that was going even remotely smoothly. He wouldn't jeopardize it by overreacting.

"That sounds great. See you Saturday?"

"Sure-- Oops, I've gotta go," Audrey told him, obviously responding to someone on her end. "I'm going to be late. Bye, Dad."

He grinned. "Bye."

A click and she was gone. Harm set the phone down, then raised his hands to massage his temples. His smile died. What did it say about his life when the only thing he had to look forward to was a weekend with a grown daughter who remained ambivalent in her acceptance of him, and whose mere existence ripped the rest of his family apart?


	11. [11]

Chapter 11

Audrey closed her eyes tightly as she held the phone against her ear, the only sign she gave of her nervousness. It rang once, twice, then picked up.

"DePalma, ZNN."

Audrey took a deep breath. She knew she would have to catch the correspondent's attention fast if she wanted to talk with him. 

"Hello, Mr. DePalma. My name is Audrey Le. I'm Vietnamese-American. You took a picture of my father in Saigon in 1980, and I wanted to ask you about it."

The voice on the other end sounded impatient, and underscored by cynicism. "Who, exactly, is your father, Ms. Le?"

Standing in the middle of her small room in Bancroft Hall, Audrey straightened her shoulders, forcing herself to raise her head. "His name is Harmon Rabb, Jr. He's a commander in the U.S. Navy."

"Rabb? Really?" Chuck DePalma barked a laugh. "I'll bet _he_ hit the roof—assuming he knows, of course." He continued to chuckle, a merry, smug sound.

Audrey pushed down her irritation. "He knows, Mr. DePalma. We met a few weeks ago."

"And how did our intrepid commander take the news, if I may be so bold?"

Audrey frowned, uncertain how to answer, or if she wanted to. Chuck DePalma sounded like he was gloating, just a little, over her father's… There her thoughts paused. What was it? Affair? Indiscretion? Innocent fling?

"Ms. Le?"

"He's been… very good to me," she finally ventured in answer to his original question. 

DePalma didn't seem to notice her sudden discomfort. "Well, that's the commander for you. Always the gentleman." He went on with barely a pause. "He hardly blinked with that brother of his, so I suppose it shouldn't be much of a surprise."

Audrey took a seat on the edge of her bed, alarmed by DePalma's intimation. "He mentioned he had a brother… is he Vietnamese, too?"

DePalma laughed his irritating laugh. "No, Russian."

Audrey stared at her feet, thoroughly puzzled. "What?"

"Oh, you haven't heard the story yet." He sounded almost droll. "Do you know why your father—" He broke off with a snort. "It's going to take me a while to get used to that one. Anyway—Do you know why he was in Vietnam back in 1980?"

Audrey rested her elbows on her knees, running her fingers through her short hair and tugging lightly at the locks. "He was searching for his father, who was shot down during the war."

"And who was captured by the North Vietnamese and later shipped to the Soviet Union."

Audrey sat up abruptly as the pieces fell into place.

DePalma continued. "Harm comes by his troublemaking ways honestly. His father was as much a thorn to the Soviets as he was a source of information. They got sick of questioning him eventually and banished him to a Siberian gulag in 1980. But, true to the Rabb legacy, he escaped. He took shelter with a couple of Russian peasants, and lived just long enough to father another son."

Audrey willed her reaction under control. What her _grandfather_ had or had not done wasn't of primary concern to her right now. 

"That's all well and good, Mr. DePalma, but I called to ask you about Saigon."

He cleared his throat, sounding chastised. "All right. What would you like to know?"

__

Everything! she wanted to shout at him. She pressed her lips together, considering her options. "What was he doing in Saigon? How did you happen to meet him?" Without consciously willing them to, her fingers reached toward her desk. She caught the edge of the picture she'd printed out earlier in the week, sliding it off the edge of the desk and into her hand. She stared at it as the correspondent talked.

DePalma's voice grew distant with memories. "Let's see… It was mid-July. I was there because the Party Central Committee was getting close on its new constitution and my boss wanted some public interest stuff—how the people of Vietnam felt about being communists and such. So there I was, hanging out in some little dive, waiting for the heat to wear off a bit before going out again, and I saw Colonel Stryker with this American kid, sitting at a table in the back. I'd seen them around, heard rumors there was some crazy teenager running the trails with the MIA hunters, but I really hadn't paid much attention. But then I saw them, so I invited myself over. 

"Stryker was trying to get the kid to eat, which was a little odd. Kids that age, you usually spend all your time trying to keep them from eating everything in sight so the rest of the folks can have something, too. Stryker was about half in the bag already, which is probably the only reason he didn't kick me halfway to China when I sat down."

He sighed. "I got the story pretty quickly. Stryker had a woman. I'd seen her from time to time. She went with him on the trail as a guide. Had a sixteen-year-old daughter who'd taken to trailing Rabb around like a puppy dog. I got the impression he was pretty smitten with her, too.

"Anyway, to make a long story short, Stryker's woman was killed when some Laotian border patrol opened fire on them while they were trying to get back into Vietnam. The daughter went back for her and got hit as well. It sounded like Rabb would have gone after her if Stryker hadn't dragged him away. Probably saved his life."

DePalma's voice changed suddenly, as if he were breaking out of the past and returning to the present. "I heard a few years back that the girl'd survived—kind of a sad story, that. I didn't know anything about a baby." 

Audrey continued to listen with half an ear. Her head was filled with a strange buzzing that made it hard to concentrate. She had no idea what DePalma was talking about. Some woman—girl—her father had been involved with, someone the correspondent had obviously mistaken for her mother.

Throat dry, Audrey forced herself to speak. "My mother didn't meet him until August, Mr. DePalma. In the village of Son My."

She could almost hear the silent _Oh, really?_ on the other end of the line. 

"That was fast," DePalma said after a moment. His amused laugh twisted in her stomach, making her nauseous. "Ah well, Harm's always been good with the ladies. Had quite the reputation once upon a time. You know what they say about dress whites and gold wings—"

Audrey hung up on him, snatching her hand back from the phone. Then she wrapped her arms around her waist, doubling over as if the pressure on her stomach could alleviate the cold, sick feeling there.

All of a sudden she wished she'd never heard the name Harmon Rabb, Jr.

#

Harm arrived at the Naval Academy a little before lunchtime on Saturday. He was grateful his Navy uniform, not to mention his status as an Academy graduate, allowed him to visit whenever he chose. Most middies didn't get to see family except once or twice a year.

It was one of those utterly gorgeous spring days. The sun shone brightly. Fluffy white clouds scudded across the sky, chased by a breeze that smelled of new mown grass. 

He found Audrey waiting for him outside Bancroft Hall. She stood to the side of the stairs, half-turned as she studied something across the quad. Her uniform was perfectly arranged, her bearing tall, proud. Harm watched her with a sense of wonder as he walked up. She was, quite frankly, gorgeous—something that never failed to touch off a tiny voice of conceit in the back of his mind whenever he noticed. But it wasn't so much the physical that awed him. It was the way she held herself, the way she cocked her head when she was thinking, the way she smiled. It was like looking into a mirror and finding a fresher, better reflection of himself… only with a mind, a heart, and a will of her own.

When Harm had first met Sergei, he'd found himself focusing on the differences between them, and had only slowly embraced the many similarities that pointed to the blood they shared. With Audrey it was the opposite. Every similarity, real or imagined, was cause for at least minor celebration—even the traits he knew to be his less-than-desirable ones.

Audrey turned when he drew near, coming to attention and snapping off a proper salute. Harm returned it, instantly wary. Her stance was icy and distant, pushing him away without a word.

"At ease." Suddenly Harm wished they didn't have the protocol of superior and subordinate to add pressure to what was already a fragile relationship. He waited, giving Audrey the opportunity to speak first, but when she remained silent he made himself forge ahead.

"Audrey?" Her dark eyes flicked to his, unreadable. "Is everything… all right?"

She seemed to shake herself. The expressionless gaze turned razor sharp, filled with bitter anger. "Just what was my mother to you?" she demanded in a low, controlled voice.

Harm hid his wince. He'd been dreading the question because he didn't have a very good answer. "Let's walk," he suggested, turning toward the wide walkway that ran in front of the building.

Audrey stayed where she was, staring stubbornly at him.

Harm paused. "Let's walk, cadet," he said again, this time making it a command.

Audrey didn't move for a moment that stretched interminably, but then she squared her shoulders and fell in beside him. She stared straight ahead, her mouth set in a thin line. It hurt Harm to know that she'd done as he asked because there were three stripes on his shoulders, not because he was her father.

They wandered away from the more populated areas of the campus, passing a tour group on its way to see the chapel. Harm walked with his hands clasped behind his back and his gaze fixed in the distance. 

"I didn't know your mother very well, or for very long," he finally said.

"That doesn't excuse getting her pregnant and then leaving her."

Harm felt a cold hand take hold of his stomach and squeeze. It was one of those things he'd always sworn to himself he wouldn't do—make a child grow up without a father. He knew all too well how much damage it did.

"No, it doesn't," he agreed softly. He was beginning to wonder if Audrey wasn't God's way of punishing him for being such a stupid, arrogant boy. It was simply the worst in a long list of offenses. To have, in a single moment, both created and mangled a life was beyond pale.

Audrey was watching him now, dark eyes alternately demanding and pleading. Harm found he couldn't bear to meet them. "I wish I could tell you I would have done something differently if I'd known." He shrugged. "Maybe I would—brought your mother back to the States with me… if it would even have been possible. The government was a little twitchy about that kind of thing back then. I—I'd like to think I would. But I can't tell you for sure."

He risked a glance at Audrey. Her expression had grown a little less hostile, but the ache he saw there was somehow much worse.

"Did you love her?"

Harm bit his lip. He owed Audrey the truth, harsh though it might be. "No, not really."

She snorted. "I guess she was just a handy substitute for the girl you thought was killed by the Laotians."

Harm turned to stare at her, stung by her mocking tone. "How do you know about that?" he asked before he could stop himself.

She tossed her head. "I found a picture of you in Saigon on the Web and I called the journalist that took it."

Harm groaned. "DePalma." He didn't like the ZNN correspondent, though he was pretty fair in his own greasy way.

Silence fell between them as Harm struggled for something to say. A dozen excuses came to mind, but that was exactly what they were, and just as useless. The truth was, there wasn't anything he _could _say. 

He crossed his arms over his chest, hunching his shoulders against a sudden breeze. The day was turning cold. "What happened to your mother… after I left?"

"What do you think?"

Harm could only guess. An unwed mother with a half-American child, Le Lin wouldn't have had an easy time of it. No doubt the old women would have whispered behind their hands as she passed, and given her little help with her new baby. He'd seen it when he was there, though the children that most recent generation of GIs had left behind were ten or eleven years old by then. Still, the passage of time had only made the prejudice more noticeable. 

For a moment, Harm closed his eyes against the images his imagination conjured. "I can't make any of that right."

"No, you can't." Now it was Audrey's turn to stare out across the quad. Suddenly she spun to face him, her face alive with emotions. She made a frustrated gesture. "But that's what I want." Her hands balled into fists as her face closed over once again. "I don't know if I wan to see you again."

The simple statement tore Harm's breath away. He swallowed convulsively, trying to recover his voice, before turning to Audrey. "That's… your choice. I told you when we met that I'd respect your decision, and I meant it." It might very well kill him, but he'd given his word.

Their gazes met, locked. Eventually, Audrey broke away to give him a jerky nod of acknowledgement. She took a deep breath.

"May I be dismissed, sir?"

Harm nodded, hating it. "Dismissed, cadet."

She turned and walked away. Harm watched her go, feeling like a piece of himself had just been ripped away. 

Audrey paused where the walkway turned to cut between buildings. She glanced back, just for an instant, watching him with said, wistful eyes. But then the moment ended, and she started walking again, quickly disappearing from view.

Inside Harm, something snapped.

"Audrey!" Cursing himself for a fool, Harm took off after her. He ran, cutting across the grass near the building in a totally unprofessional manner, and drawing startled looks from some passing middies. He spotted Audrey after a moment, standing about fifteen yards away, waiting.

Harm slowed to a slightly more appropriate pace as he closed the distance to his daughter. She watched his approach, her expression somehow both hopeful and wary.

Harm searched her face, hoping for some sign she might recant. "I'm sorry, Audrey. I know I promised but I just couldn't stand to watch you walk away." He desperately wanted to grab her and drag her into his arms and tell her he would do absolutely anything if it would somehow make up for the past. "You don't owe me anything," he went on, "but I owe you. I owe you twenty-one years' worth of love, and laughter, carnival rides, and goodnight kisses—" He stopped before he could get totally carried away. "Everything you should have had. I, of all people, know what it means to grow up without a father, and I'm so sorry I put you through that."

Audrey stared at him with tears rimming her eyes. She swayed toward him, at the same time reaching up to impatiently wipe at the tears.

"Officers aren't supposed to cry."

Harm reached up to capture her face in his hands, brushing the tears away with his thumbs. "That's just a myth. It happens all the time."

His response brought a smile to her face, one of the heartbreakingly beautiful ones Harm knew she'd inherited from him. He gathered her into his arms, holding her tight, and felt her doing the same.

"This doesn't just magically make everything o.k.," Audrey told him after a moment, her voice muffled against his shoulder. But her grip on him didn't loosen.

"I know, baby." Harm doubted there was anything that could possibly make it all right between them, but for the moment this was enough. "I know."


	12. [12]

Chapter 12

When Harm arrived at work Monday morning, the Admiral was already out in the bullpen, chatting with Mac, Gunny and Sturgis. Harm sighed. 

"Good of you to join us this morning, Commander." The Admiral pinned him with a stern stare. Mac and Sturgis flashed him amused but sympathetic glances. Gunny remained inscrutable.

"I apologize, Admiral." Harm had learned early on that being able to apologize quickly and sincerely to a superior was one of the best ways to avoid wrath. "I didn't get back into town until late last night."

Mac arched an eyebrow at that. "How did your weekend with Audrey go?" she asked with what sounded like honest curiosity. Harm was both surprised and relieved by her friendly demeanor. Last week, things had been pretty uncomfortable between them.

The question earned Harm an equally curious look from the Admiral, a keen stare from Sturgis, and a scowl from Galindez.

Gunny spoke first. "Would that be the Cadet Le that came by here a couple of weeks ago, sir?" His tone held a degree of disapproval that bordered on insubordinate.

Harm saw the Admiral's lips twitch in an effort to hide his reaction. He seemed immensely curious to see how Harm would answer. Mac, too, was watching him with interest. Sturgis was starting to look uncomfortable with the entire situation.

"It's not what you're thinking, Gunny," Harm reassured the Marine.

"I'm not thinking anything, sir."

Harm rolled his eyes, torn between anger at Galindez and disgust with himself. "She's my daughter, Victor."

The entire bullpen went silent at his pronouncement. Those few at the edges of the area who hadn't heard the conversation looked around in confusion, wondering why the rest of the JAG staff stood frozen in their places.

The Admiral's snort broke the tableau. "As you were, people." 

Immediately the bullpen went back to its normal bustle. Chegwidden looked around, his expression dry. "Amazing acoustics in this room. On a good day, they can hear us over at the Pentagon." 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harm saw Mac discretely cover her mouth to hide her smile. He cleared his throat. "That must be how Webb does it," he agreed.

Mention of the CIA agent brought a frown to the Admiral's face. "Don't say his name unless you have to, Commander. You might invoke him." 

Harm had to fight not to laugh. "Yes, sir."

Throughout the conversation, Sturgis and Victor had been staring at Harm in stunned silence.

"I guess some congratulations are due," Sturgis finally offered, a slow smile spreading across his face. He offered his hand.

Harm shook it. "Thanks."

Sturgis continued to stare at him. "So, do you mind if I ask some indelicate questions or is it none of my business?"

Harm's laugh was sour this time. "Let's just say I did a few incredibly stupid things as a teenager and leave it at that." He looked around. "At least for now."

Sturgis grinned. "Good enough for me." 

Harm eyed him. "It's not you I'm worried about." At Sturgis' questioning look, he added, "It's your dad."

Sturgis burst out laughing. "Oh, Pop'll have an earful for you, I'm sure." He clapped Harm on the shoulder, nodded to the others. "Admiral."

At the Admiral's nod of dismissal, he left, heading for his office.

Gunny turned to Harm, his posture stiff, braced. "Sir, I apologize for my behavior earlier. I… jumped to a conclusion that was obviously incorrect. It won't happen again."

For a moment, Harm met the other man's dark, sincere eyes. It surprised him to realize that Victor Galindez actually cared what Harm thought of him. Harm had always respected Gunny, but had never been certain the feeling was mutual. He'd gotten the distinct impression he was a little too… irregular to meet the Gunny's expectations of an officer.

Harm sighed. The insult hurt—that a man like Victor had automatically he was involved romantically with Audrey, whose age and enrollment at the Academy made such a relationship doubly inappropriate even if she hadn't been his daughter. The scary thing was that he could understand why Victor might think that.

He offered Gunny a small smile. "Apology accepted."

Some of the tension went out of Galindez's shoulders. He nodded, then politely took his leave from the conversation.

Harm looked at the two officers who remained. He felt a little lost. "How did I get a reputation for being some kind of shameless womanizer?" 

The Admiral gave him an oddly sympathetic look. "If I thought that, commander, I would have booted you out of this office years ago. However, your promptness does leave something to be desired."

Harm stiffened automatically at the rebuke. "Yes, sir. I'll work on that, sir."

"Good." With an impartial smile for both Harm and Mac, he turned away.

Harm glanced at Mac. "You're being awfully quiet."

She gave him an appraising look in return. "My office, commander."

"Yes, ma'am."

Masking a smile, she led the way. When she pulled rank on him without malice, it amused them both. Their long years of acquaintance had made them close friends and determined equals. The strict relationship defined by their ranks didn't fit them at all.

Harm closed the office door behind him. Rather than sit in one of the visitor chairs, he perched on the edge of Mac's desk while she settled behind it. Crossing her legs, she swiveled her chair to face him directly.

Harm saw the move coming and so was able to keep his eyes on her face rather than tracing the long lines of her thigh beneath the Marine green skirt. For one, it would have been inappropriate to ogle a fellow officer's legs while they were at the office. And for another, he wasn't sure what her reaction would be if she ever caught him staring. Insulting Mac was very high on his list of things never to do again if he could help it.

"So, what's the female perspective?" he asked. 

"On Audrey?"

Harm's fingers tightened on the edge of the desk. "No. On me."

For a moment, Mac's eyes glazed over—in shock, Harm assumed. Well, he couldn't blame her. It wasn't the kind of thing would normally ask. But Audrey's mere existence and especially Victor's reaction to the knowledge were making him wonder if he were deluding himself into thinking he was any kind of gentleman at all. Certainly the rest of the world didn't seem to think so. Therefore, it was time to ask a hard question or two of people whose opinions he trusted. 

After she'd recovered, Mac leaned back in her chair, studying him. "Well, no one would label you a _womanizer_, Harm, if that's what's worrying you. The term implies that you take advantage of women, and that's pretty obviously not true."

Harm realized he'd been holding his breath, waiting for her opinion. He forced his lungs to unlock, feeling like he'd just ducked a bullet. It scared him to realize just how much Mac's good opinion meant to him. He paused. Not her good opinion—her respect.

He braced himself. "So what am I, then?"

She thought for a second, amusement lighting her features. "Irresistible?"

He rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Mac."

"I am being serious." Her eyes had turned that almost-black color that could swallow him whole if he looked too deeply. "You're… you're like a movie star, Harm." She gestured aimlessly as she struggled to put her thoughts into words. "There's this larger-than-life mystique around you. Only you don't just play the hero on TV, you really are one. People think you can do anything, and it just seems… natural, I guess, that you'd always have a princess or a congresswoman on your arm—"

Now it was Harm's turn to stare. "That's hardly the case," he protested weakly. 

Her smile was bittersweet. "I know that, Harm." She nudged him with her foot. "I know _you_, remember?" She shrugged. "But most people only see the mystique, because that's all they want to see. Do you realize that pretty much every woman who meets you and then meets me assumes we either are, or at least were, involved?"

Since most men assumed that, too, Harm wasn't too terribly surprised. "I'd gathered as much," he managed in a close-to-normal voice.

"Any idea why?" Mac's gaze was sharp. Harm had the distinct feeling he was going to get slapped with an uncomfortable truth if he let her answer her own question. He studied his partner for a long moment, acutely aware of the opportunity he'd just been handed. He'd started the conversation in search of just such truth, but on the other hand, here was a chance to maybe follow up on Mac's 614 days. That, he finally decided, was worth too much to let the opportunity slip away.

He gave her a diffident stare. "Let's see… probably because you're smart, sexy, highly capable and I'd be an idiot not to have asked you out in all the years we've known each other?" 

Mac gaped at him.

"Am I close?" he asked with a smile, enjoying her reaction.

Her mouth closed with a snap. She moistened her lips, staring at him with an unreadable expression that made Harm think maybe he'd said something he shouldn't have. His heart slowly sank.

Mac eventually found her voice. "Yeah, except that you've got it backwards." There was a faint note of mockery in her words.

"Backwards? How?"

Her expression closed, like heavy doors slamming shut across her face. "You're smart, sexy, highly capable, and I'd be an idiot not to have thrown myself at you in all the years we've known each other." 

Harm felt the blood drain from his face. Mac stared at him, eyes wide, the pain she couldn't quite hide floating in those dark depths.

Harm pushed himself to his feet. He felt cold all over. "I guess that makes me the idiot then, doesn't it?" Without waiting for Mac's response, he walked out of her office, headed blindly toward his own.

#

Harm had no sooner made it into his office than Harriet showed up at his door, beaming.

"I just wanted to say congratulations, sir!" She held tightly to the folders in her arms as if to keep herself from bouncing.

"For what, lieutenant? Getting a fifteen year old girl pregnant in a foreign country and not finding out about it until now?" The acid words leapt out before Harm could consider them.

Harriet's eyes flew wide with hurt and shock. 

Horrified, Harm shook his head. "I'm… so sorry, Harriet. That was totally inexcusable." He sank into one of the chairs in front of his desk, too dismayed by his own behavior to stay upright. 

Harriet recovered after a moment. She nodded silently, her gaze filling with compassion and concern. She closed his door, then came over to sit in the other chair, resting her elbows on the pile of folders in her lap as she stared at him.

"Are you all right, sir?"

"Call me Harm, Harriet." He bit his lip. "At the moment, I don't deserve the 'sir' anyway."

She gave him a soft little smile. "Maybe so, _sir_, but everybody deserves a little grace from their friends."

Harm managed a smile. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. If you don't mind my asking… is the colonel upset? About your daughter, I mean?"

Harm gave her a puzzled look. "I don't think so." As far as he knew, Mac was mad at him for making a pass at her. She'd certainly slapped him hard enough for it. "Why would she be upset about Audrey?" 

Harriet's mouth twisted, echoing her discomfort. "Oh, I don't know. But you were obviously angry when I walked in, and you'd just been talking with Colonel MacKenzie…"

Harm skewered her with a sharp stare. "Do you keep track of every little thing that goes on between the colonel and myself, lieutenant?"

"Pretty much, sir." Harm nearly choked at her admission. Harriet grinned impishly. "I can't help it. I'm a hopeless romantic."

Harm snorted in contempt. "Sorry to disappoint you, but you might as well give up on this particular cause."

She gave him a look of pure exasperation. "Harm, you can't possibly tell me you don't care about the colonel as, well, more than a friend." Her fingers balled into fists in her lap, betraying her nervousness. "I mean—this is really none of my business, but—I see how you look at her. You can't tell me it's nothing."

If he closed his eyes, Harm knew he'd see Mac's face, the way she'd looked that night in Sydney. Had he known that was it—the only chance they'd ever have to be together—maybe he would have responded differently. Maybe they _could_ have turned a casual affair into something more.

And maybe not. The moment of doubt passed, as it always did. He knew it had been the right choice, as much as it might ache to look back on. Mac deserved better. 

He sighed, feeling incredibly tired for so early in the morning. "No, I can't tell you it's nothing, Harriet. But I suspect it's one-sided and that's—" Harm suddenly realized where he was and who he was talking to. "That's really all I'm going to say on the subject." 

Harriet took the hint and stood. She walked to the door, pausing with her hand on the knob to look back at him. "Just for the record, sir…"

Harm raised an eyebrow. "Yes, lieutenant?"

"I think you're wrong about the one-sided part."

Then she was gone, slipping out the door before he could recover from his surprise.


	13. [13]

Chapter 13

After two days of watching Mac snarl and snap at anyone who came near her, A.J. decided he had to take action in the matter… judiciously, of course. To that end, he found some innocuous reason to call Commander Rabb into his office. Undoubtedly the commander would be able to shed some light on the subject.

"Have a seat," A.J. told the younger man, waving toward a chair while he shuffled the papers covering his desk. 

Harm did as he was directed, watching his superior with polite attentiveness while A.J. cleared a small area on his desk in which to lay his clasped hands.

"Commander, have you noticed that Colonel MacKenzie has been acting rather… upset these last few days?"

The commander went decidedly pale. A.J. allowed himself a grimace of dismay.

"I take it from your reaction that this is somehow your fault?"

Harm swallowed hard. "I—yes, sir. Probably, sir."

A.J. mutter a choice oath under his breath. Having his Chief of Staff in a tizzy did not help the smooth operation of his office. "I thought I told you to quit doing that, commander. What was it this time?"

Too late, A.J. noticed the expression of pure terror lurking in his senior attorney's gaze. He couldn't retract the question. 

"I… hit on her. Sir." Harm had the grace to look abashed.

A.J. simply stared at him for a moment in utter shock. He managed a cough to cover his lapse. 

"Ahem. I take it the colonel was… unreceptive?" A.J. ventured hesitantly. 

Harm's face emptied of expression. "You could say that, sir."

A.J. studied the commander for a moment, searching for some sign this might be an elaborate and ill-advised joke. Mac, the woman who'd followed him to Russia and back—twice—who'd completely abandoned her own wedding when he went down in the Atlantic the year before, who aided and abetted every harebrained scheme the man came up with out of stubborn loyalty and inalterable faith… And she _didn't_ want more than friendship from him? A.J. was tempted to check the window to see if any pigs happened to be flying by. 

He sighed. His rank only allowed him one position on the matter, though he intended to take it as gently as he could. If the commander had finally figured out what Mac meant to him, A.J. didn't want to do anything to discourage the relationship.

He didn't let his thoughts show. "Then can I assume this will eventually blow over?"

"I hope so, sir."

"And it will stay outside of the office from now on?"

Harm stiffened. "Yes, sir."

"Very well, commander. Dismissed." A.J. kept his eyes down, ostensibly focused on the paper he fished randomly out of a nearby stack, as Rabb came to attention and left the office.

When he was gone, A.J. leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. What was Mac thinking? Perhaps he should have a talk with the good colonel. 

#

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Colonel MacKenzie hovered uncertainly in the doorway to A.J.'s office, looking more like a child who'd been called to the principal's office than a decorated Marine officer.

__

Here we go, A.J. thought with an inward sigh. Her guilty demeanor confirmed what he suspected, firming his resolve. This wasn't going to be easy to do—not with a straight face, anyway.

"Please, have a seat, colonel." He waved her in.

She did so, smoothing her skirt nervously. A.J. folded his hands on the desk in front of him, taking a moment to study his Chief of Staff. Mac was excellent in the position, one of the few truly good things that had come out of Rabb's short second career as a fighter pilot. By rights, the position would have belonged to the commander had he not left when he did, which would have been unfortunate. Not that he couldn't have done the job—just probably not as well as Mac. Colonel MacKenzie's one shortcoming, however, was that she had a tendency to let personal things fester until they overwhelmed her instead of dealing with them. Maybe this would help her see the drawbacks to that lifestyle.

A.J. gathered his wits.

"Colonel," he began, "I couldn't help but notice that you've been a little… distraught the past few days."

Her expression went from guilty to outright panicked. "Sir, I apologize for my unprofessional behavior. I won't let personal matters interfere with the performance of my duties again—" She paused when he held up a hand.

"It's all right, colonel. I understand you have every reason to be disturbed."

She gave him a puzzled look. "Sir?"

A.J. summoned an expression of carefully controlled anger. "I had a… talk with Commander Rabb earlier. He admitted to making an unsolicited and obviously unappreciated advance toward you…"

It took every ounce of will power A.J. possessed to maintain his professional facade as Mac's eyes went as wide and round as saucers.

When he had himself thoroughly under control, he continued. "The commander assures me nothing of the sort will ever happen again. However, you can press charges if you'd like."

Mac stared at him in abject horror, mouth working soundlessly.

"Uh… no, sir," she finally managed, her voice faint. "That won't be necessary."

"You'd prefer to settle the matter on your own?"

She nodded, head bobbing like a marionette's. "Yes, sir."

"Good, then get it settled. I don't want to see the performance of this office undermined by personal issues." 

"Yes, sir."

A.J. took a moment to study his Chief of Staff. She sat rigid in her seat, hands clasped together in her lap. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, and he could see her swallowing convulsively as she fought with her emotions. Suddenly A.J. feared he'd pushed too hard.

"Mac."

Her gaze snapped to his, shining with stubbornly unshed tears.

"Forget about rank for a moment," he said softly, "and tell me what's going on."

She stared at him for a long, long moment, unguessable questions turning in her eyes. 

"Would you really have let me press charges?" she finally asked. "Against Harm?"

"Not unless you did a heck of a good job of convincing me he deserved it."

She shook her head. "He doesn't, sir. Not at all." 

"I didn't think so." A.J. paused, uncomfortable. "However, that does beg the question of why your behavior of late has been… churlish, to put it mildly?"

She flushed. "I'm mad at myself, sir."

A.J. raised an eyebrow and waited for her to go on.

"He all but asked me out!" She raised both hands, clenching them into fists. "I've been waiting six—almost seven years—for him to take _some_ step, show some interest, and when he finally does…" She gave him a hopeless look. "I pretty much slap him for it." She shook her head, raising her eyes toward the ceiling. "I can't believe I'm telling you this."

"Would you rather I'd sicced Lieutenant Simms on you?"

She gave him a wan smile. "No, sir."

A.J. sighed. "Listen, Mac. I will endorse any amicable relationship you and the commander choose to have. Rank does have its privileges. But it has to be _amicable_. Understood?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Then can I count on you two to resolve this between yourselves?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. Dismissed, colonel."

#

Squaring her shoulders, Mac rapped smartly on her partner's apartment door. She could hear music playing within and an indistinct murmur of voices. If Harm had a woman there... She snorted in self-mockery. What would she do? Pout? But oh, how it would hurt to see him with someone else again.

The door opened after a few moments, revealing, not her favorite tall, dark aviator, but a shorter, blonder Rabb.

"Mac! _Privet_." Sergei grinned at her as he swung the door wide. "Come in."

"Hi, Sergei." Mac forced a smile as she nervously peeked around the doorframe. "Is Harm here?" She spotted him even as she asked the question, standing in the kitchen over a steaming pot of something. To her surprise, Audrey knelt on one of the barstools on the far side of the counter, leaning precariously over the expanse to peer into the pan with him.

"It's for you, Big Brother," Sergei called over his shoulder, before turning back to Mac. "Have you met my lovely niece?"

Both Harm and Audrey turned at Sergei's announcement. Audrey climbed down from her stool as Mac drifted into the room. She nodded in greeting, a brilliant smile blooming on her face. The mannerism was so much like Harm that Mac was momentarily taken aback.

"Hello, colonel."

"Hi, Audrey," she returned. Mac's gaze slid to her partner, who hadn't moved. "Can I talk to you?"

He shrugged, grabbing a dishtowel to wipe his hands. "Sure." He came out of the kitchen and moved off toward the edge of the room. Mac followed him, self-consciously crossing and uncrossing her arms.

"What's up?" He regarded her with a neutral gaze, no hint of whatever he might be thinking visible on his face. Mac tried not to let it bother her. She had no right to expect any kind of openness now.

Mac took a deep breath, painfully aware of Sergei and Audrey watching them from the kitchen.

"I—I wanted to apologize. For what I said." She doubted she needed to tell him which particular comment she was referring to.

Little changed in Harm's expression. His shields were firmly locked in place, not to be knocked loose so easily. She would have to be pretty dramatic if she wanted to have any hope of scrolling them back to where they'd been a few days ago. Or any place remotely close.

She forced herself to continue. "I had no right to say what I did."

"It's a free country, Mac."

She clenched her jaw. He wasn't even going to accept her apology. She stared at him, feeling the first burn of tears. What could she possibly say? A long buried memory surfaced, something Harm had pointed out once—a keen analysis of her character that she'd never dared look at too closely.

"You were right about me," she said abruptly.

His eyebrows rose in silent question. 

"When a man looks at me and sees something of value, I push him away." She bit her lip after she said it, afraid to look at him. But like a shaft of sun breaking through storm clouds, Harm's gaze softened.

"I'm sorry," Mac said again. Her breath caught in something suspiciously close to a sob. Suddenly she found herself trapped against his chest, his arms tight around her. Relief bubbled out of her in laughter as she snaked her own arms around his waist. These moments of contact were so rare, so precious. She just wanted to close her eyes and pretend it could last forever.

"Should I set an extra place at the table, brother?" 

At the question, Mac pulled away from Harm. Sergei leaned against the counter, watching them with unabashed interest. He held a plate and glass in his hands matching the three already on the table. Audrey stood at the stove, tending to dinner and otherwise ignoring them.

Harm glanced down at Mac. "Have you eaten yet?"

She shook her head. 

He flashed her a real smile, the kind calculated to melt her defenses. "Then have dinner with us."

For a moment, Mac was tempted to refuse. This evening was obviously intended to be time for Harm to spend with his family. But with the fallout from her last rejection painfully fresh in her mind, she didn't dare.

"If you're sure it's no bother…"

Harm wrapped a companionable arm around her shoulders to guide her toward the kitchen. "Of course not." He looked over at his brother. "She's staying, Sergei."

Sergei smiled with real pleasure as he went to set the table.

Harm headed back into the kitchen while Mac took her usual place at the counter. He walked up behind Audrey, laying his hands on her shoulders and squeezing lightly. She looked up at him with a smile.

Mac felt a pang of jealousy for that simple act of affection. Harm wasn't a touchy person. It spoke volumes for how much he cared about Audrey, and how much a part of his life he wanted her to become. Mac kept her sigh to herself. Once again she and Harm lost the opportunity to take their relationship to that next level and who knew how long it would be until another one came their way. But, Mac thought as she watched the unprecedented scene before her, maybe right now it was for the best. Harm had a houseful of people over. Voluntarily. And he looked like he was enjoying it. Maybe right now he needed to concentrate on healing the wounds inside his family… inside himself. 

Mac smiled to herself as she made her decision. Surely sometime in the next… she checked her internal clock… 606 days, they would get another chance. She could wait.


	14. [14]

Chapter 14

Audrey looked around the dinner table in a kind of suspicious wonderment. When her father had invited her over for a "family" dinner, her mind had immediately filled with images of the stiff, formal silence maintained at her uncle's table, and of being scolded for not sitting properly or showing proper respect or holding her chopsticks correctly. Even at the Academy there was strict discipline at meals. But this dinner had been filled with music, laughter, and a surprisingly comfortable camaraderie.

Audrey and her father sat on one side of the table, Sergei and Mac on the other. Dinner had long since been finished, and coffee had taken its place. The conversation had stayed on fairly safe topics—life at the Academy and the rigors of the Aerospace program, Duke law (Mac's alma mater) versus Georgetown law (where her Dad, apparently, had gotten his degree), and a lengthy grilling by both her father and Mac as to what classes Sergei intended to take when he started at Georgetown in the fall. 

Audrey found it interesting to watch the interactions. Her father and Mac didn't act like coworkers. They acted like a couple who'd been married so long they'd started taking each other for granted. Still in love, still friends—just forgetful of what they had. Watching them made her doubly curious what her father's odd comment some weeks earlier might mean. 

Sergei, on the other hand, was a punk. Audrey smiled to herself as she thought it. He was an ingeniously endearing punk, but a punk nonetheless. Her father indulged him—to a point, at least—and Mac teased him mercilessly about his trusting nature, his luck with women, and pretty much anything else she could come up with. In return, Sergei obviously adored his older brother, though Audrey had the feeling his loyalty had been earned rather than simply given, and he treated Mac with the affectionate respect due an older sister.

Audrey got up to refill her coffee. "So how did you and Sergei find out about each other?" she asked her Dad from the kitchen.

The three at the table exchange looks. After a minute, her father leaned back in his chair, cradling his coffee mug in both hands. "I was in Moscow, helping the Russians take a fresh look at their military justice procedures. The officer I was primarily working with, Alexi Volkonov, was investigating corruption at some pretty high levels in the Russian army, and I ended up tagging along."

"_Tagging along?_" Mac snorted derisively. "Mark dropped the bait in front of you, wiggled it a little bit, and you swallowed it whole. Poor Alexi was just along for the ride."

He tipped his head back so he could see Audrey. "That Mark she mentioned would be Mark Falcon, a.k.a. Major Sokol, Russian intelligence service." He straightened to look at Mac. "I believe you almost dated him."

"That was before I found out he was a Russian spy."

"Ha! That was _after_ you found out he was a Russian spy."

Mac glared at him, a smile twitching at the corners of her lips. 

He deliberately looked away from her, returning his attention to Audrey. "Anyway, Alex and I ended up in Chechnya and Sergei was the helicopter pilot assigned to fly us around." He flashed a smile in Sergei's direction. "We didn't get along so well at first. He ended up dropping us in the middle of an ambush."

"I was following orders, brother." Sergei sounded indignant. "How was I to know my commanding officer was trying to get you both killed?" He leaned back in his chair, looking smug. "Besides, after that truly horrible defense you presented at my trial, I believe we are even."

Harm gave him an injured look. "Are you saying I did a poor job of defending you?"

Beside him, Mac nodded silently. Sergei chuckled. "Really, brother. Every time you opened your mouth, another member of the board decided I should die."

Mac stifled her laughter behind her napkin.

Fresh coffee in hand, Audrey headed back to her seat. She was already getting used to the crazy stories her new family had to tell. As she passed behind Sergei, she smacked him lightly in the back of the head.

"Hey!" He turned to stare at her, blue eyes round. "What was that for?"

Audrey couldn't quite hide her smile as she shrugged. "At least he defended you."

"Gee, thanks," her dad muttered.

Audrey slid into her chair. As she did so, Sergei reached over to poke her in the ribs, a highly sensitive spot. Audrey squawked and jerked away from him, momentarily forgetting her coffee, which sloshed all over the table, though luckily, not much got on her hand. The little that did, she flicked in Sergei's direction.

Her father started to chuckle. "Behave, you two."

Sergei pointed at Audrey. "She started it."

Mac laughed and said something to Sergei in Russian as she reached across the table to help Audrey mop up the spilled coffee. Sergei immediately dropped his gaze, his ears turning pink. But when he looked up, his expression was far from chastised. He said something in return, which touched off a long spiel from Mac.

Audrey looked at her father, who smiled and shrugged. She debated for a moment, then switched to Vietnamese. "Well, if they're going to do that… How is your Vietnamese?"

He chuckled, raising his eyebrows. "Rusty." But the answer was in that language as well. 

They exchanged meaningless pleasantries until Mac and Sergei concluded their conversation in Russian. Her father struggled at first, but she could see him growing more comfortable as he resurrected his memory of the language. They continued talking until Mac and Sergei both began to stare at them. Sergei looked puzzled, but Mac's eyes were dancing.

"Is this payback, partner?" she asked.

Audrey's father flashed his famous smile. "What? For waving your vaunted language skills under my nose for the last seven years? Would I do that?"

She chuckled. "Yes, you would."

Suddenly, Mac's laugh gave way to a yawn. She fluttered her hand over her mouth, eyes squeezed tightly shut until it passed. "Oh, goodness. It's getting late."

"Now you've done it," Harm said as he, too, yawned.

Audrey gave them both a disbelieving look. Late? It was hardly 2300 on a Friday night.

Sergei could have read her mind. "They're old, lovely niece."

"Bite your tongue," Mac told him.

Her dad leaned back in his seat, stretching. "As much as I hate to say it, we should probably wrap this up. I told Bud I'd go with him to his physical therapy appointment tomorrow morning."

Mac set her coffee cup down with an expression suspiciously close to regret. "And I'm supposed to watch A.J. for Harriet." She groaned lightly. "She's coming over at 0800. I forgot."

Audrey looked from one to the other, seized by a sudden desire not to let the evening end. But her dad and Mac both looked exhausted. 

"Then I guess it's just you and me, Sergei." She latched onto the first idea that came to mind. "Do you want to go out—catch a movie or something?"

"Sure," he agreed, jumping to his feet. She followed suit.

"Do they still have midnight movies?" Mac asked the room in general.

Audrey shrugged in response. "If not, we'll find a club or something."

Sergei grabbed Audrey's jacket from the chair behind her and held it open in a gentlemanly gesture. "I know several."

Audrey watched her dad pin Sergei with a stern stare. "You're not twenty-one yet." 

Sergei rolled his eyes. "I know, I know, brother. No drinking. I do not understand this American obsession with legal ages."

"You don't have to understand it, just respect it." The stern demeanor melted. "It's only a couple more months. We just got your citizenship straightened out—the last thing you need is to get busted."

Audrey looked at Sergei as comprehension dawned. "I'm older than you?" She turned to her father. "I'm older than my uncle?" She wasn't certain why, but it struck her as extremely funny.

His answering smile was a little embarrassed. "By about seven months."

"That's going to be fun to explain."

He raised his eyebrows in a sardonic expression. "Welcome to life in the Rabb family. Everything requires an explanation."

Audrey snorted and let the subject drop. "Well, don't wait up for us." On the spur of the moment, she bent down to give her father a kiss on the cheek. "Goodnight, Dad."

"'Night, baby." He caught her shoulder before she straightened, squeezing it in a kind of hug.

Feeling strangely light, Audrey headed for the door with Sergei on her heels. She couldn't remember a time when she'd felt so welcome in someone's house, including the one she'd grown up in. And that, she realized, would draw her back here, no matter how difficult the issues between her father and herself might be. 

Hand on the doorknob, she paused as another realization struck. There was no longer any doubt in her mind or heart that she wanted her father to be part of her life. 

#

"I'm impressed," Mac said after the door swung shut on Audrey and Sergei.

Harm gave her a mystified look. "With what?"

She grinned at him, that warm, beautiful smile that could make his day all by itself. "With you."

The comment caught him off guard. "Why?" Honest compliments from Mac were unusual.

Her smile deepened. "You let Audrey walk out of here without a single over-protective parental reminder… You know, 'Don't stay out too late', 'Don't go home with any strange men'…"

Harm had to laugh. He'd bitten his tongue on both of those. "She's a big girl, Mac."

Mac gave him one of her pointed looks.

He shrugged in tacit admission. "Besides, considering the fact that I was all of sixteen when she was born, I don't really have much place to talk."

Mac gave him a smug little grin. "I suppose that's true enough—not that it's stopped you in the past." 

Harm threw his wadded napkin at her. She caught it mid-flight and wagged a finger at him in warning, to which Harm merely laughed. He marveled at how good it felt just to be with her. Their friendship had been growing steadily stronger over the past year, and was finally returning to something like what they'd had before his tour on the _Patrick Henry_. But tonight felt different, though whether that was because of Audrey and Sergei, or because of some change between himself and Mac, he wasn't sure. For the first time—ever, really—he felt like Mac was completely comfortable with him.

"So how's your mom doing with all of this?" Mac asked after a moment.

Harm's good mood evaporated in an instant. "She's still avoiding me."

"Have you talked to her?"

He shrugged. "A couple of times. It's not like she refuses to speak to me or anything, she's just…" 

"Just?" 

"Distant, I guess." He shrugged as all the emotions he'd been avoiding came rushing back. "I don't understand it. She's a whole lot more comfortable with Sergei's existence than with Audrey's. I mean, I understand why she wouldn't be thrilled—she's my mother, after all—but she won't even acknowledge that Audrey exists. If I mention her name, she changes the subject."

Mac got up and came around the table. She settled in the chair Audrey had vacated and leaned on her elbow to study Harm. "Have you thought about going to see her?"

Harm picked up Audrey's crumpled napkin, smoothing it on the tabletop. "I've thought about it," he allowed. 

"Harm." Her voice held a warning note.

He didn't look at her. "I don't know, Mac. If she doesn't want to face the facts, what can I do? I don't want to hurt her any more than I already have."

Mac was silent. When he couldn't stand it any longer, Harm risked a glance in her direction. She was watching him, her dark eyes contemplative.

"I don't think you're going to have a choice if you really want to put all this behind you," she said, her voice as solemn as her gaze.

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "Don't you see it, Harm? _Everything_ in your family goes back to Vietnam." She straightened, gesturing as she spoke. "I don't think you've truly dealt with it—not completely, at least—and your mother for sure hasn't."

Harm stared at his hands. He knew, of course, that his father going down in Vietnam had radically changed their lives. How could it not? But as he thought through everything he had become, and all the paths that had led to today, he could see that Mac was telling the truth. There wasn't anything about his family that hadn't been completely shattered because of Vietnam, one way or another.

Mac cautiously laid one hand on his arm. Her touch brought instant comfort and he had to fight the urge to drag her into his arms for a hug. 

"You're the one who made me go see my father," Mac told him quietly, "and I never properly thanked you." Her fingers tightened on his arm. "I won't lie to you. It was hard." She flashed a smile fueled more by pain than anything else. "Really hard. But I found a lot of resolution there, and some of those old wounds are healing now. I'm grateful for that. So now it's my turn to tell you the same thing—you need to go see her, Harm."

He sighed in resignation. "I know." He leaned forward, capturing her hand between both of his and resting his chin on the tangled mass. Memories flooded his mind—the terror of crouching in the bushes while bullets scored the ground around him, deliberately sighting in on a glint of white that was an eye and pulling the trigger, his mother's cold silence those first few days after his return, and the horrible incongruity of going back to high school with blood still crusted beneath his fingernails. 

Mac reached over to gently stroke his hair away from his forehead. "You going to be o.k., flyboy?"

Harm dragged himself back to the present. "I don't know, Mac." Something compelled him to be honest. Whenever he let these memories out, it always frightened how much power they still had over him. "I really don't know."


	15. [15]

Chapter 15

Spring gave way to summer, bringing stifling heat and humidity to the Washington area. Harm hardly noticed the weather, though he hated summers in D.C. almost as much as winters. His life had turned into an unprecedented whirlwind. It seemed like every time he turned around he had company... if it wasn't Sergei, it was Audrey. Even Mac stopped by once a week or so. The strange thing was, he liked it. It wasn't like Renee trying to wheedle more "together" time out of him. In fact, it wasn't like any relationship he'd ever had. For the first time in his life he didn't feel desperately claustrophobic around the people he cared about. Instead, people came and went, weaving their own lives around his, and he around theirs. If he didn't want company, he could simply wander off and no one would chastise him for it, or accuse him of being unsociable, or get their feelings hurt.

But early summer brought another event, one that – for the first time also—he found himself looking forward to: The Navy Marine Corps Ball. The Admiral had pulled some strings to procure tickets for the entire office. If he ignored the growing rift with his mother, Harm could pretend he was as happy as he'd ever been in his life.

When he called Annapolis to talk to Audrey, her roommate answered the phone.

"Hello, Kat," Harm greeted the midshipman. "Is Audrey there?"

For some reason, that ignited a spate of laughter from Kat. "Yes, Commander, she's here. Hold on." Distantly he heard Kat handing the phone over, her voice a teasing sing-song in the background. "Any last requests before he kills you?"

"Oh, shut up, Kat!" Audrey came on the line, sounding suspiciously bright. "Hi, Dad."

In the solitude of his office, Harm raised an eyebrow. "O.k. What did you do?"

"It wasn't just me."

"Uh huh."

A hint of laughter crept into her voice. "We forked the parade ground."

Harm rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. He knew he was probably encouraging her, but curiosity had gotten the best of him. "That's a new one on me. Hopefully it isn't as obscene as it sounds."

"_Dad_, forks... plasticware, y'know? A friend of mine was doing his turn at mess duty and he noticed this absolutely huge pile of boxes of plastic forks in a corner of the storage area. Somebody must have made a mistake when they ordered them or something. If the totals on the boxes can be believed, there were more than three million forks there. They were all covered with dust, so we figured nobody would care if we... borrowed them."

Harm started to chuckle despite himself. "And what exactly did you do with them?"

"We planted them in the parade ground—stuck the tines in the ground."

"_Three million_ forks?"

A smug note crept into her voice. "Yup."

Harm laughed. Through his blinds, he saw Mac headed across the bullpen, having just gotten back from court. "How long did that take?"

"Well, there were a bunch of us, but it still took all night. My back is killing me."

"So are you confined to quarters?"

She uttered a heartfelt groan. "For a week... and bread and water rations for the first three days. Captain Burr said that since we didn't do any actual harm—if anything, we aerated the ground and saved the groundskeeper some work—he wouldn't put it on our records. I think he was trying not to laugh."

Harm thought she'd gotten extremely lucky that the captain had a sense of humor. "Well, do you think you can manage to stay out of trouble until the Navy Marine Corps Ball on the fifteenth?"

He grinned at her girlish shriek. "_Really?_"

"Really. I have two tickets."

She sobered abruptly. "What about Colonel MacKenzie?"

Harm very nearly pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at it in consternation. "What about Mac? She has her own tickets."

"Yeah, but aren't you going to ask her to go with you?"

A small knot formed in the pit of Harm's stomach. "I wasn't planning on it."

He could have sworn he heard her growl in frustration. "Why not?"

"We're just friends."

To his surprise, Audrey breezed right thought that one. "You should still ask her. I mean, if I'm there, it's not like it would be some deeply romantic interlude, but I bet she'd appreciate being thought of." She paused. "Why does every little thing between you two have to have some profound meaning, anyway?"

Harm snorted. _Why, indeed?_ "Well, when you put it that way..."

She laughed at his sarcasm and changed the subject. "What am I supposed to wear to a ball? Should I wear my uniform? I don't really have an evening dress."

Harm shook his head, wondering if he was being as skillfully managed as he suspected. _I think this is what's referred to as having Daddy wrapped around her little finger._ "You should definitely wear a gown, but that's about as much help as I'm going to be in that department. I don't know a thing about ladies' fashions."

"Hmmm. Maybe I'll ask Mac."

__

Uh huh. And no doubt find out whether he'd said anything to her about the ball in the process. Harm was beginning to realize what a dangerous woman his daughter was.

"Well, if you're done arranging my social life, daughter mine..."

"Someday you'll thank me."

Harm laughed despite himself. "You know, I pity the crew of whatever carrier gets you. They're not going to know what hit them."

"That's a good thing, right?" She, too, laughed after a moment. "Bye, Dad. I'll see you on the fifteenth."

"Bye, Audrey. And stay out of trouble."

"I will."

"Heh. Famous last words."

He hung up the phone with her laughter still ringing in his ears. Through the blinds he saw Mac go past and disappear into her office. He sighed. Well, he might as well get it over with...

#

"Hey, Mac. You busy?"

Mac looked up to find Harm leaning into her office, one hand hooked around her doorframe. 

"No. Come on in." She pushed back from her desk with a smile, grateful for an excuse to stop poring over the same police report in search of the miraculous detail that would save her client. What's up?"

The expression that flitted across his face made her insides curl up in a tiny, frightened knot. They'd spent a lot of time together these past few months, but they'd never gone anywhere near any topic that might have... significant ramifications. She sensed that was about to change.

Harm walked in, opting to settle against the edge of her desk rather than in a chair. She kept her gaze politely on his face, despite temptation. She didn't think her goggling at him would escape notice. _Admire from a distance, MacKenzie_, she reminded herself.

"You going to the Navy Marine Corps Ball?" he asked casually.

Mac forced herself to maintain her smile. "I was planning to." She decided not to ask him why he wanted to know. 

"Do you know what you're going to do with your other ticket?"

Mac cocked an eyebrow, surprised by the turn in the conversation. Maybe this wasn't as big as a deal as she was making it out to be. "Not really. Why? Did you want it for someone?"

"Uh... no." He was twisting his Academy ring around on his finger, something he only did when he was uncomfortable. "I'm giving Audrey my other one. I just..." He looked down at his feet. "I guess I was asking whether you're going with someone or not."

Mac stared at him, totally at a loss for how to interpret the question. _No_, she told herself firmly as the possibilities began to swim in front of her. _Do not take that to mean anything._

"Um... no, I'm not going with anyone." She tried to keep her tone neutral.

Apparently, she succeeded. Harm looked up and flashed her a half-hearted smile. "Well, if you don't want to go stag, would you like to join Audrey and I?"

Mac almost laughed at the pathetic-ness of it all. _We're turning that poor girl into our chaperone. Why can't we just figure out how to be alone together without things getting so complicated? _

She chewed on her lip. "I don't know, Harm. I don't want to intrude. You should just focus on Audrey... I mean, it's her first time to an event like this, isn't it? I wouldn't want to spoil—"

"A simple 'no than you' would have sufficed, Mac." Harm cut her off, his tone just shy of curt. He started to stand.

Mac wanted to kick herself. _I did it again, didn't I?_ She grabbed his arm. "Wait."

He stared at her, his expression tightly sealed, but did resume his seat on the edge of her desk. 

"Can I try that again?"

Harm gave her an odd look. "Okay..."

Mac drew a preparatory breath. "Yes, I would love to go with you and Audrey." When his expression lightened, she risked a smile. "What time do you want to pick me up?"

#

After Audrey's mini-grilling, Harm managed to avoid any more pointed questions about the ball for almost two weeks. He was beginning to hope his more matchmaking-inclined friends were going to leave him alone for once, but that hope died when he found himself alone in the break room with Sturgis.

"So, buddy, you got a date for this Navy Marine Corps thing?" Sturgis asked as he stirred sugar into the sludge Mac insisted on brewing.

His back turned while he fished in the cabinets for a tea bag, Harm rolled his eyes. Here it came. But maybe he could yank the rug out from under his well-meaning, _nosy_ friend.

"Actually, Sturgis... I have two."

"_Two?_"

"Yes. Mac and Audrey."

Sturgis' spoon clattered against his mug. "Really?" 

Harm grinned smugly. "You sound surprised, buddy."

He laughed. "I guess I am. You've got to admit it's a little out of character for you, Harm."

Harm located the tea box and pulled out a bag. "What is? Having a drop-dead gorgeous woman on either arm?"

Behind him, Sturgis choked on his coffee, dissolving in a fit of coughing. Harm turned with a grin, only to find Mac standing next to the doubled-over commander, solicitously thumping him on the back. She eyed him over Sturgis' bent head, her brown eyes dancing with wicked delight.

"You know, 'drop-dead' is a dangerous phrase to use around a Marine," she told him, a smile lurking at the corners of her mouth.

Harm stared owlishly at her for a moment before he managed to compose himself. He summoned his most winning smile. "Just stating facts, Mac." He tore his gaze away from her to where Sturgis was slowly straightening, his flushed cheeks visible even on his dark skin. "You o.k. there, buddy?"

Sturgis waved his concern away. "Don't mind me," he wheezed. He continued to hack and cough, clearing his lungs.

Harm looked back at Mac. "See? Proof positive your coffee is deadly."

She wrinkled her nose impudently. "At least it's not as big a choking hazard as your foot."

Harm didn't have a comeback for that one. He finished preparing his tea as Mac poured herself a cup of coffee, both smiling unaccountably every time their eyes met. 

"See you Saturday?" he finally asked as he headed out of the break room.

She smiled over the rim of her mug, a warm, flirtatious expression that stole his breath away. "Yeah. See you then."


	16. [16]

Chapter 16

By the time he and Audrey arrived at Mac's place, Harm knew he was in trouble. He parked the SUV and got out the driver's side. Audrey copied him on the passenger's side. But instead of coming with him, she simply opened the door to the back seat. He paused to give her a curious look over the hood of the car.

She smiled sweetly. "I can wait for you guys here."

Harm just shook his head. There was absolutely no safe or comfortable place for the conversation to go from there. And, to be honest, he was looking forward to a few moments alone with Mac... Mac in an evening gown, no less... even if it was just to walk her from her apartment door down to the parking lot.

He headed into the building and knocked on the appropriate door. Mac answered almost immediately, her body hidden behind the door as she swung it partly open. It was almost as if she were peeking out at him. The look she gave him in that first moment of eye contact was both shy and coy, but then the expression disappeared to be replaced by something more neutral as she opened the door fully and stepped back.

__

Steady, Hammer. The way she stood—one hand on her hip, the other holding the edge of the door—was a clear invitation to admire the vision before him. To a point, at least. Mac wore a simple floor-length gown. Slender straps accentuated the line of her collarbone and left her arms bare. The material was a deep red that reminded Harm of roses, so much so that he expected their sweet scent to waft over him when he stepped closer.

"Hi, Mac. You look... amazing." She didn't smell like roses. Instead, her scent was a heady mixture of cinnamon and coffee, with a touch of mint.

"Thank you." She smiled up at him, lips parting as she did so.

They hovered there, caught between one moment and the next. Harm fought down the impulse to cross completely into her personal space, tangle his fingers in her hair, and kiss her soundly. She would either yank herself out of his grasp and deck him for being so forward, or worse, she wouldn't, and he would have committed himself to a physical relationship without any real hope of permanence. One that would utterly destroy the most precious friendship he had.

Harm hated these moments. Going forward would kill them, but pulling back made Mac think he was rejecting her, further damaging her self-image and aggravating the reasons for not taking their relationship forward in the first place. If only there were some middle ground...

To his surprise, Harm found one. Before he could argue himself out of it, he closed the small distance separating them and drew Mac into his arms for a hug. She stood rigidly against him for just a moment—in shock, no doubt—then her arms went around his neck and she relaxed into the embrace.

Harm released her reluctantly, but hid his feelings behind a bright smile. "Are you ready to go?"

"Um... yeah." She gave him a pleased, curious look, but didn't ask him the reason for the hug. "Let me get my purse." She retreated into the apartment.

Behind her back, Harm breathed a sigh of relief.

Mac returned, and together they walked to the SUV. He held the door as she got in, discovering that her skirt was slit quite high in the process. There were some advantages to being a gentleman, he thought smugly as he went around the car.

By the time he climbed in on the driver's side, Mac and Audrey were already deep in discussion about the dress Audrey had bought for the occasion. Harm had to bite his tongue. The shimmering black gown was cut dangerously low in the front and even more so in the back, evoking a strong desire for a shotgun in her father. Or at least a sidearm. 

Harm quickly tuned out the discussion of designer fashions and breast size, figuring it was safer to be ignorant. He snapped back to the present, however, when Mac asked Audrey if she'd ever been in love. He cursed his inattention then, wishing he knew what had prompted the question. 

In the rear view mirror, Harm saw Audrey cock her head. "Other than Tommy Blough in the eighth grade... no, not really." She grinned at Mac. "And I'm not really interested in finding someone right now, anyway. I want to fly."

Mac turned halfway in her seat so she could look at Audrey. Harm couldn't identify her expression—disbelief, maybe? Disappointment?

"I have a hard time understanding how anyone can love a chunk of metal more than a person."

Harm studiously kept his attention focused on the road. Her words cut deep, bringing back old memories.

Audrey, however, began to chuckle. "You make it sound like some kind of human aberration. What's wrong with being passionate about your profession?"

"Pilots seem to be _obsessive_ about their profession."

Audrey sobered. "True. They are." She leaned forward, clasping her hands around her knees. "We had a guest lecture at school about a month ago—an F-18 pilot from the _Coral Sea_. He said that being a naval aviator is one of the only professions in the world that you can't do unless you love it so much you don't care if it kills you."

Harm's gaze jerked to the rear view mirror, meeting Audrey's reflected one. He felt the silent understanding pass between them—she shared his passion as well as his blood.

Mac didn't seem to notice. In fact, she seemed to have forgotten he was there at all. She turned even further in her seat, hooking her arm around the back and resting her chin on the shoulder, next to the headrest.

"So what you're saying is, I'm right. Pilots do love their forty million dollar chunks of metal more than anything else."

Audrey smoothed her skirt with one hand. "Yeah. In a way, I guess I am."

"So why would any woman want to marry one?"

Harm squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckled turned white. He hardly dared to breathe. Audrey didn't look at him as she grinned a patented Rabb grin. "Well, you know what they say about dress whites and gold wings..."

To Harm's complete surprise, Mac laughed. "Oh, I understand that part just fine, but I'm talking about serious relationships here." She paused, a smile still lighting her face. "By the way, does that work for female pilots, too?"

"So I've heard."

Mac waved a hand, dismissing the side topic. "Anyway, you were saying...?"

Audrey chuckled. "I think a woman would want to marry a pilot for the same reason she'd marry any man—because she loves him."

"Even if he'd never be totally, completely in love with her and nothing else?"

Audrey wrinkled her nose in a grimace. "Eww. The idea of any man making me the sole center of his existence makes my skin crawl." She shuddered as if in illustration. "I'd much rather have a husband who was obsessed with an honorable profession than one obsessed with _me_. Can you imagine the pressure of trying to be everything he needs to make him happy?"

Mac jerked back, eyes wide. Harm mentally shook his head. Brumby had certainly made her his obsession.

Mac turned forward again and actually did a double take when she noticed Harm in the driver's seat. Her face went pale.

"Did you forget about me?" he asked mildly.

"Uh..." She pointed over her shoulder. "You do know that was just a philosophical discussion, right? I wasn't talking about you specifically." Her dark eyes begged him not to make an issue of it.

Harm was more than willing to do so. Her comments only underscored the wisdom of not allowing their relationship to go beyond friendship.

"I know."

"You're not mad?"

At that, Harm had to smile. "Why should I be? You weren't talking about me, right?"

Mac bit her lip at the unspoken challenge. "Right." She turned her head to look out at the traffic in front of them. "O.k."

In the rear view mirror, Harm caught Audrey rolling her eyes and gave her an admonishing look. She made a show of ignoring him.

#

They meet the rest of the JAG crew in front of the Grand Ballroom. Everyone exchanged hellos and Harm introduced Audrey to those who hadn't yet met her. Audrey looked a little star struck after being introduced to both the Judge Advocate General of the Navy and the senior Congresswoman from Michigan.

"Where's Sergei?" Bud asked Harm as the initial round of greetings began to die away.

Harm shrugged. "Working."

Mac chuckled. "He lost interest the moment Harm told him Lieutenant Singer was out at Whidbey Island Naval Station for a case and wouldn't be attending." 

Her tart comment drew laughter and she forced her mouth to form a smile. Audrey's comment still rang in her head, mocking her for dating a man for more than a year and almost marrying him because he was everything she'd ever dreamed of having... and increasingly hating every moment as the relationship slowly smothered her. Now, she was asking herself a new and frightening question: had she been looking for the wrong things?

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she missed the end of the conversation. She was brought back to herself with a start as Harm touched her arm.

"Mac, you o.k.? We're ready to go in."

She straightened self-consciously and pushed the thoughts away. This wasn't the time or the place. She summoned a smile for Harm. "Sorry. Yes, I'm ready." She took his proffered arm.

Harm turned and offered the other arm to Audrey, who took it with a delighted smile. Harm grinned at them both. "Shall we, ladies?"

A few steps behind them, Sturgis chuckled. "Hey, Harm, I guess you were right."

"About what, buddy?" Harm asked without looking back.

"About having a gorgeous woman on either arm tonight."

Mac felt her cheeks heat. Did he have to say that in front of _everyone_? She sneaked a glance at Harm, only to find his blue eyes dancing.

"I believe the term I used was 'drop-dead gorgeous'," Harm informed Sturgis without turning his head. "And yes, I was right."

"_Dad_." Audrey elbowed him in the ribs, but if anything, her smile had widened.

Mac mentally threw up her hands. _Oh, why not?_

"_Harm._" She mimicked Audrey's tone and dug her elbow into his ribs on the other side.

"Hey!" Harm gave them a playfully wounded look. "No fair ganging up on me, you two."

Mac smirked at Audrey behind his back. Harm's daughter winked in return.

Ahead of them, the Admiral paused, Meredith on his arm. "Commander, are we going to have good order and discipline problems this evening?"

A spate of laughter followed the question. Harm grinned at the Admiral's back. "I believe it's the Chief of Staff's responsibility to maintain good order and discipline among her people, sir."

Chegwidden snorted. "Very well. Keep him in line, Colonel."

"Yes, sir," Mac responded automatically and gave Harm another light elbow in the ribs.

Harm laughed quietly as the three of them walked into the ball. 


	17. [17]

Chapter 17

Harm lost track of his daughter as the evening progressed. After a couple of dances, they'd more or less gone their separate ways... she back to the dance floor and he to the table where the JAG crew had settled to rest his knee. He spotted her now, though, standing with a knot of young officers clustered around her. Audrey looked like she was having the time of her life.

Seated beside him, Mac followed the direction of his gaze and chuckled. "Just think, Harm... In a couple of years, you could have grandkids."

He dragged his eyes away from his daughter and fastened them on Mac, grimacing in mock horror. "Ouch. Easy there, Marine. I'm still trying to digest the idea of having a son-in-law someday." He sipped his tea and shrugged. "But, since Audrey wants to be an aviator, at least I won't have to worry about it for a few years yet."

Mac's grin widened. "Skates is married."

"Shhh."

She laughed.

"Hey, I just realized something, sir," Bud said from Harm's opposite side. He was back at JAG part time, and would be returning to full active duty as soon as the doctors released him. "You could end up having children and grandchildren who are the same age." 

Harm whipped around to stare at Bud, only to relax with a rueful grin when he realized the other man was yanking his chain. Bud's dry, laconic humor seemed to be showing more clearly these days.

"Well, let's hope Audrey waits about fifteen years," he said after a minute.

"Aw, c'mon, Harm." Mac leaned on her elbows, grinning devilishly and showing him a nice bit of cleavage in the process. "Don't you want to hear little voices calling _Gwampa... Gwampa_?" She imitated a toddler's lisping speech.

Harm laughed painfully. "No thanks." He lowered his voice to a murmur as he bent toward her. "I wouldn't mind 'Daddy', though."

Mac skewered him with a sharp stare. 

"What?" he asked, spreading his hands in protest. "I'm starting to like this parenting thing."

Mac's expression remained skeptical. "You say that now, but what about when you're up to your elbows in dirty diapers?"

Harm considered his response carefully. Such dangerous territory, this, but they did have a deal. Besides, he'd never been one to back down from a challenge.

He grinned at her, letting a note of suggestion creep into his voice. "Why don't you ask me then and I'll let you know."

For a moment he was afraid she was going to get angry, but then her eyes took on that melted chocolate look that always set his heart to racing. A slow smile spread across her face, luminous and magical.

"All right. I will." Her elbows slid across the table, bringing her closer.

"It'll probably be the middle of the night," he reminded her. He, too, leaned forward until their faces were mere inches apart.

Her voice dropped to a throaty whisper. "I'll be there." 

Harm could feel her breath on his mouth and he knew that if he tipped his head just _so_, he could kiss her.

They stared at each other as the world dimmed around them. Harm was vaguely aware of Bud and Harriet exchanging significant looks, but couldn't pull enough attention away from Mac to care.

"Would you like to dance?" he heard himself asking.

In response, Mac held out her hand, her eyes never leaving his. Harm took it, feeling an electric jolt at the contact. He led her to the dance floor, pulling her into his arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice was telling him he was walking a dangerous line-- that if he stumbled, even for an instant, he would betray every promise he'd ever made himself about this woman. He'd already done it once-- on the Admiral's porch one chilly night when destroying their friendship and his own self respect seemed preferable to watching her marry Brumby. But someday... _someday_, he promised himself... they would make it work. That same little voice in the back of his mind reminded him that, with only 544 days left to go on their deal, time was running out to figure out how.

"You still with me, sailor?"

Harm focused on her face, finding traces of concern behind her soft smile. "I'm here." He drew her a little closer, relishing the feel of her body in his arms, the perfect rhythm of motion as they danced. "Just... thinking."

"What about?"

"Us."

The perfect syncopation between them broke as Mac missed a step. But before Harm could react, she retook her place, tucking her body against his once again. He could hear her shaky breath and feel the tension in her arms. 

"Is that 'us' as in fellow officers, partners, friends... or more than friends?" She had her head tucked against his neck, making it impossible for him to see her expression.

He surprised himself with his response. "It's a package deal, Mac."

Now she tipped her head back to look at him, her dark eyes searching his face. She was so achingly beautiful it tore at his heart.

"The package is missing a piece," she stated, daring him to contradict her.

He didn't. "Yes, it is," he agreed quietly.

Her soft gasp told him more than any words could have, and he was shocked all over again by how badly they seemed to misunderstand each other. How could she _not_ know he wanted a future with her? But it was obvious she was not just startled by the idea, but stunned.

She licked her lips. "Any idea where we might find it?" she asked after a long pause.

He could only sigh softly and shake his head. "No, not really."

Mac stiffened immediately and pulled away, her eyes flashing in indignation. "Bull, Harm. It's just not that hard."

"Mac--" 

But before he could get out more than her name, she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down, her mouth fusing with his. For a moment, everything went away in a white-hot flash as her scent, her taste, overwhelmed him. He dragged her close, crushing her against him as the touch of her lips ignited a desperate ache.

She broke the kiss after a while, pulling back just far enough to look into his eyes, her stare defiant. They were both panting.

"Now tell me it's really that hard," she challenged.

The dangerous glitter in her eyes was nearly his undoing. He loved her for her feisty passion and her Semper Fi, do-or-die attitude, but in this case he knew it wouldn't be enough. He swallowed hard, forcing both body and voice to obey him.

"Could you promise me we would never become ex-lovers, Sarah?" 

Her eyes widened in surprise. She opened her mouth to answer, but then closed it again without a sound. Harm could see the doubt that sprang to life in her gaze. He knew she was too honest to lie, and so she said nothing.

Sadly, he gathered her close once again. "Then it _is_ that hard."

They danced in silence, hardly noticing as one song gave way to the next. 

"Harm?" she finally asked. Her head remained at his shoulder, her face invisible to him.

"Yes?"

"What happens when little A.J. turns five?"

Harm was acutely aware of every little brush of her body against his, of his fingers splayed across the small of her back, and the softness of her hair where it tickled his chin.

"I made you a promise. I'll keep it."

"Even if there still aren't any guarantees?"

The thought frightened him more than pretty much anything else on the face of the planet. "Yes."

She didn't say anything else and Harm grew increasingly nervous as the minutes ticked by.

"Mac?" he finally asked. "Are you o.k.?"

Her laugh held a strange, giddy note. "You just knocked my entire world view off kilter, Harm. I'm adjusting."

"Oh." He let out the breath he'd been holding. "All right, then."

#

They kept to safe topics after that, but the atmosphere between them was comfortable-- far more so than Harm would ever have believed after such a conversation. 

__

Maybe we're making progress after all. The thought made him smile.

They eventually headed back to the table. Harm enjoyed being able to keep his hand lightly on Mac's back without feeling like he was stealing an illicit touch. At the JAG table they were met by a veritable sea of smiling, expectant faces. For a moment, no one spoke. Then the Admiral cleared his throat.

"Commander, Colonel... is there something you two would like to tell me?" The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he were holding a smile at bay by sheer effort of will.

Mac glanced up at Harm, brows arching like gull wings as she waited for his answer.

Harm turned to the Admiral. "If there is, sir, you'll be the first to know," he answered gravely.

"Hmph." Chegwidden looked a bit disappointed but didn't press, for which Harm was immensely grateful. Mac just shook her head, her gaze soft and amused.

Beyond the Admiral's shoulder, Harm glimpsed a familiar face, and one he hadn't expected to see tonight. He turned to Mac. 

"Will you excuse me for a minute? I see Tom Boone over there." He nodded toward the bar, where the admiral was ordering a drink. "I want him to meet Audrey."

She nodded and he took his leave, allowing his fingers to trail down her spine before losing contact with her altogether. 

Admiral Boone smiled and held out his hand as Harm approached. They shook, and then Tom leaned his elbow on the counter to study the other man.

"I heard about your little adventure out in the Arabian Sea." His smile took Harm back to his childhood when his dad and Tom would come out into the yard to play Fighter Ace with him.

Harm shrugged. "The captain aboard the _Seahawk_ told me to get my butt into an F-14 up on the ramp, so I did."

Tom chuckled. "And loved every minute of it, I'm sure."

Harm didn't bother to answer. Tom had been a fighter pilot and understood without words how precious every moment in a Tomcat was to him these days.

Harm let the subject drop. "Listen, Admiral, there's someone here tonight that I want to introduce you to." His stomach did a nervous flip-flop. He wasn't entirely sure how Tom would react.

Tom gave him a politely interested smile and waited for him to continue.

"Do you remember the summer I turned sixteen?"

Tom's expression went from mild to dangerous in a heartbeat. "You mean the summer you disappeared off the face of the earth, scared your poor mother half to death, and forced a couple of State Department flunkies to tell her to her face that her only son was in Vietnam getting shot at?" He looked away for a moment. "Yes, I think I remember that summer."

Harm sucked in his breath, stung by the fierceness of the other man's gaze. "I... didn't realize you were so angry about that."

"_Angry?_ You bet I was angry!" A couple of heads turned at Tom's outburst and he lowered his voice. "I _promised_ Harm I would look after his family if anything happened to him and all I could do was sit with Trish and tell her everything would be all right when I knew it wouldn't. Of course I was angry. I was furious. With you, with her, even with Harm." He stared at Harm for a second, then looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry. I know it was a long time ago."

Harm chewed on his lip, wondering fearfully just how much damage he'd really done with that single act. "Yeah, it was, but it's catching up with me."

Tom looked up. "How so?"

"I have a daughter."

Tom straightened abruptly, his gaze sharp. "In Vietnam?"

He shook his head. "She was born there, but her mother and uncle brought her to the States when she was four." Harm went on to tell him the story of how they'd met and all of the things he'd learned about Audrey since then, concluding with, "She's over on the far side of the dance floor somewhere-- last I saw, anyway. I was hoping to introduce her to you."

Tom watched him thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded. "I'd like to meet this daughter of yours." He gestured for Harm to lead the way.

"So how is your mother taking all of this?" Tom asked at one point as they worked their way around the room.

Harm's gut twisted, but he knew better than to try to avoid the question. "Not very well, sir. We're barely speaking these days."

Tom shot him a startled look. "That's sad to hear."

Harm just nodded.

They approached the group gathered around Audrey. Harm watched Tom's reaction out of the corner of his eye. He looked impressed despite himself.

"Audrey."

She turned at the sound of her name, her face lighting with a smile when she saw Harm. 

"Hi, Dad." The primarily younger officers around her gave ground at the sight of three stripes followed by two stars, as Audrey walked over to give Harm a hug.

Harm introduced her to Tom Boone, and watched with a touch of pride as she gracefully shook his hand. She didn't loose her poise even though she was only a cadet and this was at least the second admiral she'd been introduced to that evening.

"Harm tells me you're planning to fly F-18's." Tom studied her, his expression giving Harm little insight into his thoughts.

Audrey drew herself up a little further. "Yes, sir."

"It's a proud Navy tradition." 

She nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir, and a proud Rabb tradition as well."

Tom chuckled, glancing at Harm. "That it is. I think your grandfather would have loved to see this."

She gave him a curious look. "What was he like?"

Tom hooked a thumb in Harm's direction. "The spitting image of this one, but only half as crazy in the air."

Audrey cocked her head, glancing at Harm and then back to Tom. "Then, following that progression, I'm going to be a menace, aren't I, sir?"

Tom burst out laughing. "If you turn out to be four times crazier than your grandfather, miss, yes you are."

#

Mac sat down at the table, ignoring the curious looks her friends were giving her as she watched Harm walk away. She hadn't been kidding when she said he'd knocked her world view off kilter. She'd believed for a long time that he didn't want to have a romantic relationship with her. Now she realized he didn't want to have that relationship _unless he was certain it would be permanent_, and that put an entirely different spin on things.

In all honesty, Mac didn't quite know what to do with the knowledge. It didn't exactly put them in each others' arms, but somehow she didn't think they would be trying to claim they were just friends anymore, either.

"So, Mac." Sturgis' soft drawl brought her back to the present. "Are you and Harm dating now or what?"

She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. Everyone was still watching her. 

"Uh, maybe. Sort of." She momentarily cursed Harm for leaving her to deal with this alone. She didn't have solid answers for Sturgis any more than she did for herself.

Beside Sturgis, Bobbi laughed. "That didn't look like a _maybe_ kiss, Mac."

"It's complicated." Mac nervously twined her ankles together beneath her chair.

Harriet flashed her a significant look. "If you don't mind my saying so, ma'am, that's less original than 'we're just friends'." 

"Harriet!" Bud stared at his wife.

It dawned on Mac then that the man she loved had just told her, in a clear if roundabout fashion, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her and would do so, starting in a little over a year and a half. So why was she trying to wriggle out of saying something that might give people the impression they were involved? She wrinkled her nose impudently. If Harm didn't like it, let him deal with the fall out.

Mac leaned back in her chair, feeling strangely content. "You're right, Bobbi. It wasn't a maybe kiss, but I believe I'm going to keep the details classified for now. Fair enough?"

Bobbi made a show of pouting, but then a grin leaked through and she nodded. "Fair enough."


	18. 18

Chapter 18

Mac walked into the office Monday morning with her stomach in a knot. She felt like Cinderella. Less than forty-eight hours earlier, pretty much the entire office staff _saw_ her kiss Harm, and now everyone was convinced they were a couple. Mac knew better. They might not be _just friends_ anymore, but beyond that she didn't quite know what they were. 

Reality was setting in. Midnight had come and gone, and Cinderella had returned to her rags and ashes. Mac was more than a little frightened of facing her partner in the cold light of day. Would he act like nothing had changed? 

Mac paused with her hand on the door to the bullpen. _Had_ anything changed? 

Gathering herself, she pushed the door open and strode into JAG. Only a few people were about at that hour, one of which was Harriet. She beamed at Mac, though with an element of confusion.

"Good morning, ma'am." Harriet's gaze went over Mac's shoulder, as if looking for someone.

"Good morning, Harriet," Mac returned. Her gaze followed the lieutenant's before she turned a questioning look on the other woman. 

Harriet flushed. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I thought Commander Rabb would be coming in with you—" She broke off, no doubt recognizing the expression Mac could feel growing on her face. "Uh, never mind, ma'am."

Mac rolled her eyes, and with a groan retreated to her office. 

By the time Harm _did_ show up, nearly two hours later, Mac was ready to kill the next unfortunate soul who congratulated her. The news had apparently made its way through the office in record time, even for scuttlebutt. 

Mac watched from her office as Harm maneuvered his way through the crowded bullpen, stopping to exchange a few words with everyone he passed. She could tell from his slowly gelling expression just exactly what kind of comments he was getting this morning. It would be interesting to see what he had to say once he reached her office.

As he always did, Harm dropped off his briefcase and cover in his office then made his way over to hers. He wandered in and dropped into one of the chairs fronting her desk.

"Yeesh. You'd think we were getting married."

Mac paused to study him. The deep blue eyes were clear, and alight with humor.

"That—" Mac waved her pen toward the rest of JAG outside her office door, "doesn't bother you?"

He grinned, a full-blown Rabb smile. "_That_ is entirely your fault. And no, it doesn't bother me. Should it?"

Mac gave him an exasperated look. "Except that it's not true."

The smile faded, replaced by an intense stare that turned Mac's knees to jelly. "Who says it isn't?"

She refused to let him steamroller her with his magnetism. "If I'm not mistaken, _you_ said it isn't, Harm."

Her words sapped the light from his eyes. "What I said is that I don't want to rush into a relationship." His voice took on a harsh edge. Mac wasn't sure if it was hurt or anger. To her surprise, he stood and went to close her door. Then he returned to his seat, leaning forward on one elbow.

"Look, Mac. I'm beginning to realize that you and I think so differently about this kind of thing that we can barely communicate, so, if by some chance you didn't already know I'm crazy about you then I'll just say it." The intense eyes kept her pinned in her seat as her stomach did a savage flip-flop. "But why does everything have to be so extreme? Why _can't_ we be involved but taking things slow? What is so wrong with that?"

For a minute, Mac could only stare. Harm's frustrated expression barely registered through the warm haze that had enveloped her. A slow smile spread across her face—a foolish, delighted smile, some distant portion of her brain informed her. One thoroughly unbecoming of a Marine officer, and guaranteed to draw comments from her coworkers if any of them happened to be watching. Which they undoubtedly were.

Eventually, she straightened in her seat and cleared her throat, wrestling her smile under some semblance of control. "So you're crazy about me, huh?"

Harm threw up his hands. "Yes! Did you hear anything I said after that?"

Mac sighed as her ebullience trickled away. "I heard you." She moistened her lips, searching for a way to explain. 

"There's nothing _wrong_ with going slow, I guess. In theory." She toyed idly with her pen as she spoke. "But to me your idea of slow feels like—" She searched for an apt comparison. "—like treading water. It's tiring and frustrating and, at best, all it does is keep your head above water." She held out a hand as he opened his mouth. "No. Let me finish."

She tossed her pen down, clasping her hands together in front of her. Her voice softened as she thought about what she wanted to say. "I understand now why it's important to you—to wait, or go slow, or whatever you want to call it. I get it." She raised her eyes to his, finding that his frustration had given way to something less guarded. Deep currents ran in his eyes, tugging at her heart. 

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to go on. "The problem is, that approach doesn't work for me. I need..." She waved a hand, searching for words. "I need... convincing. You know my background, Harm. I have a very hard time believing that people care about me unless the proof is so obvious I can't rationalize my way around it." Emotions long buried shoved their way to the surface, tightening her throat. "Mic was in my face, every day, telling me he loved me, bringing me flowers, taking me to dinner, and talking loud and long about how beautiful he thought I was. Yeah, he was obnoxious about it, but I never once questioned how he felt about me. I couldn't. And I almost married him because I loved that feeling of security so much." She glanced down at her left hand. "Even though I never loved _him_." The admission brought a sour taste of shame to her mouth.

Fighting down the tangle of emotions, Mac impatiently brushed her bangs away from her face and forced herself to look at Harm. "Anyway, there's my self-analysis. You're right that we think differently about... about relationships. What we want... what we _need_... is so totally opposite from each other..." She gave him a helpless shrug. "I don't know what to do."

She fell silent, waiting nervously for Harm's response. He stared at her for a long time, expression flickering across his face as he digested her speech. Finally his face took on a puzzled cast.

"When did we start having these conversations?"

Mac couldn't help but smile at the familiar high-g turn his thoughts had taken. "These painfully honest, heart-to-heart type conversations?" she asked.

He smiled back. "Yeah, those."

"I'm not sure. Recently."

His expression didn't change. "Are they doing any good?"

Under other circumstances, Mac might have laughed at the boyish confusion written on his face. Instead, she gave the question serious consideration. 

"Well, it beats what happened in Sydney hands down," she finally told him.

His eyebrows hiked in alarm. "I'm not sure I really want to go there, Mac."

She gave him a half-hearted smile. "I don't think there's any reason we have to. All I meant to say is that I like this option better."

"Oh."

A knock interrupted whatever else Harm might have said. Mac looked up in surprise, then motioned for Tiner to enter. He gave her an apologetic look as he opened the door.

"Ma'am, your 0900 is here."

Startled by the appointment she'd completely forgotten, Mac automatically began straightening her desk. "Thank you, Tiner. I'll be right there."

Harm stood. "I'd better get out of your hair."

Her hands froze as she looked up at him. "Can we finish this later?" She tried to keep her tone professional.

He shrugged. "Sure." Then he totally shocked her. "How about tonight? My place? I'll cook you a romantic dinner." His grin was part cocky, part cajoling.

In the doorway, Tiner's face went utterly blank. 

"Um... o.k." Mac's cheeks were suddenly very warm. She couldn't quite meet Harm's eyes.

"Great. Then I'll see you tonight." He flashed her another smile, then turned and left, nodding to Tiner as he passed. 

Only when he was gone did Mac start breathing again. She looked up to find Tiner still standing in her doorway, a goofy grin plastered on his face.

"Not a word, Tiner." She pinned him with as threatening a stare as she could manage. "Not a single word."

Firmly clamping his lips together, the petty officer nodded and retreated from her office. Mac watched him go, torn between laughter and curses. She still had no idea where she stood with Harm. Well, except that he'd admitted—out loud, even—to being crazy about her. Some of the warm feeling she'd had earlier returned as she recalled the words. That had to mean something, didn't it?

She sighed softly. It was going to be an interesting evening.

#

Harm wandered around his apartment, muttering under his breath as he lit candles and fluffed couch pillows. The smells wafting out of his kitchen had set his mouth to watering—something he would never admit to Mac. He was making Veal Parmigiana, which was as close to her red-blooded diet as he could force himself to go. Why did meat have to smell so good, anyway? He studiously ignored the nervous voice in the back of his head that reminded him of the evening's purpose—finishing the serious, emotionally perilous conversation they'd started earlier. He'd discovered some things he needed to admit to Mac, things that were going to be hard to say.

The phone rang. Harm froze. Hoping it wouldn't be Mac with some reason they couldn't get together that night, he grabbed the receiver and put it to his ear.

"Rabb."

"Harm!" He immediately recognized his mother's voice, angry and strident. "What is going on? Did you tell that reporter I'd talk to him, because if you did—" 

"Whoa, Mom. Slow down." Harm cut her off, shaking his head as he tried to catch up. "What reporter?"

"Some man from ZNN. DeCarlo or something. He said he wanted to do a segment about our family and how things changed because your father was shot down." Her voice took on a ragged edge, precursor to tears. "Harm, I don't want to go through this again! It's in the past. Why can't you leave it alone?"

Harm ground his teeth, silently cursing Chuck DePalma to the worst torment Hell could offer. "I didn't ask him to talk to you, Mom. I don't know why he's suddenly interested, but he won't bother you again. All right?"

He heard a sharp snuffle as his mother collected herself. "All right. I... Never mind. I'll let you go." And the phone went dead with a click.

Harm stared at it for a long moment, reflecting bitterly that his mother didn't want to talk to him for any longer than necessary. Then he dialed his voicemail. If DePalma had called his mother, chances were he'd called everyone else.

The playback indicator beeped hollowly in his ear. _Hey, Harm. It's Chuck DePalma. Listen, I want to do a piece about you and your family. Vietnam's aftermath, you know? How American families are still being affected, twenty years later. I don't want to do the same old sob story, though. Your story is different. No less tragic than what anyone else suffered over there, but some good has come of it, too. People are starting to see war as a reality again, and I want to give them something to ponder. Give me a call and let me know what you think._

Harm turned the phone off, then, after a moment's indecision, turned it back on and dialed a number he now knew by heart.

"Hello?" Audrey's voice was low, strained.

"Hi, baby. It's me."

"Hi, Dad." 

Harm stared at his shoes. "Did Chuck DePalma call you today?" he asked. There was no sense making small talk or avoiding the issue. She was too important too him to risk their relationship by being evasive.

She didn't answer immediately. Then, "Yeah, he called me. He wants to do some kind of profile of our family. I already talked to Sergei. He thinks it's a great idea."

That didn't surprise Harm too much. Sergei idolized their father almost as much as he did. 

"What do you think?" Harm asked his daughter.

She sighed. "I don't know, Dad. I want to, but at the same time I'm not sure I really want to know all the details, y'know?"

"About me?"

"You, Mom... any of it. This is the first time in my life that I've really felt like I _belonged_ somewhere. I don't want to lose that."

Harm's heart swelled with a fierce love for this young woman who had so unexpectedly been gifted to him. "You won't, Audrey. You'll always belong here, no matter what happens."

"Thanks." He could hear her smile. "I love you, Dad."

Harm closed his eyes. "I love you, too, baby."

"I'd better go. It's almost lights out here." She paused. "I guess, if you want to do this interview thing, count me in, too."

Harm nodded invisibly. "All right. I... have no idea what I want to do, but I'll let you know."

"O.k. Goodnight, Dad."

"'Night." He set the phone down in its cradle, staring at it as his thoughts turned. How could something that happened so long ago still hold him—and his family—in such thrall? It was obvious now that the wounds from his trip to Vietnam had never healed. In his mother's case, he wondered if they'd even stopped bleeding. He'd been too self-righteous in his youth to see how much he'd hurt her, and by the time he was old enough to have gained some humility, she'd grown too skilled at hiding her feelings. But whether DePalma's little expose could do anything besides push them farther apart...

When Mac knocked on his door about ten minutes later, he was no closer to a solution. He opened the door for her, unable to summon much of a smile as he stepped back to let her in. She did so, her eyes never leaving his face. He could see her uncertainty as her smile fell away. 

"Harm? Is something wrong?" He saw the fear spring to life in her dark eyes. No doubt fear that his mood somehow had something to do with her, and would lead to a shattering rejection. Only a few months ago, Harm would have scoffed at the idea that she was that fragile, but now he could see the truth so clearly he wondered how he could ever have missed it.

On impulse, he scooped her into his arms, hugging her tightly. Her arms folded around his neck. He breathed in the scent of her hair, letting its fragrance loosen the tight knot in his chest.

"Harm, tell me what's wrong." Her voice was little more than a whisper.

Without relinquishing his hold, he gave her the highlights.

"What are you going to do?"

He released her, turning toward the kitchen. "I don't know." He checked on their dinner's progress, switching the oven off and lifting the vegetable steamer's lid to gauge the condition of the new potatoes.

Mac slipped onto one of the stools lining the counter. When he turned to her, she reached across to catch his hand in both of hers.

"It'll be all right. You'll see."

He flashed her a wan smile, his attention fixed on their joined hands. He could feel the strength in her slender fingers where they curled around his. The warmth of her grip gave him more courage, more comfort, than he'd ever imagined.

He sighed, gathering his scattered thoughts. "We're supposed to be talking tonight. About us, not my Vietnam issues."

"It can wait," Mac assured him. Seeing the compassion in her eyes, he was pretty sure she meant it. That didn't mean she wouldn't be disappointed, though; hurt by poor timing and circumstance once again.

Harm was tired of hurting her. He met her gaze. "Maybe so, but I don't want to let this wait any longer." Idly he traced the bones of her hand through her skin. She felt like silk over steel. "I was thinking about what you said—Well, before all this other mess started, I was thinking about what you said," he qualified with a sheepish grin.

She smiled back at him in silent encouragement. He took a deep breath and forged ahead. "About dinners and flowers and compliments and... things."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Things?" The smile lingered on her lips, inviting him to continue.

"Yeah. You know... things. Romantic things." He looked down at the counter top, unable to hold her gaze any longer. This was the hard part. "To be brutally honest, here, I've never really been interested in winning a woman's heart before, so there didn't seem to be much point to all of that." He'd never wanted to give a woman possible reason to think he might be serious.

He risked a glance at Mac. She was staring at him, eyes wide. She blinked a couple of times. "And now?"

"Now..." He gripped her fingers tighter and forced himself to look at her. "Now I'm staring at the only woman I've ever wanted to fall in love with me, and realizing that I don't know what to do."

He held his breath, waiting for Mac's reaction. 

For a moment she looked utterly astounded. Then, slowly, she tipped her head to the side and gave him a thoughtful stare. "You've never actually _pursued_ a woman in your life, have you?"

It sounded even worse coming from her mouth than his. "No."

Her solemn expression slipped, revealing a delighted smile. "And I'm the one?"

"Yes."

Mac raised one hand to her throat, fingers curling. Her eyes shone. Harm was terribly afraid she might start to cry.

He cleared his throat. "What I'm saying is that, if things seem... slow... between us, it's not because I don't want you. I'm just not real sure how to go about this relationship thing." He paused, wishing he knew how to explain to her exactly how he was feeling. "You're an amazing woman, Mac. You deserve to be... pursued. And won. I want to win your heart—totally and completely. Forever."

Mac's breath caught, a tiny gasp that sent a thrill straight through him. The fingers that rested at her throat trailed down her breastbone, coming to rest at the lip of her shirt. She looked up at him through her lashes, the expression both shy and incredibly sexy. "Do I get to play hard to get?"

Harm bent toward her. "I was hoping you would," he murmured. He smiled deep into her eyes and saw a light kindle in response. Of desire, and challenge accepted. Harm felt a ray of hope. It was so far outside the norm for either of them, so different from all the other relationships they'd both tried and failed, that maybe they stood a chance of succeeding.

Mac gently extricated her hand from his grasp, her smile warm. "Well then, on that note, maybe we should eat." She slid off her stool. "And you can tell me more about this idea of Mr. DePalma's..."


	19. 19

Chapter 19

Mac bent her head over the report she was reading—trying to read, anyway. Every few seconds, her gaze would stray to the bouquet decorating the corner of her desk. The flowers had arrived a while earlier, much to her public dismay (and secret delight). It was easily the most beautiful bouquet she'd ever seen—roses, iris, lilies and lilac created a bright montage of color against the paler sweet pea and baby's breath. The lilac smelled absolutely heavenly, drenching her office with its delicate and decidedly un-Marine like scent.

Abandoning the report yet again, she picked up the card that had come with the flowers.

__

Chances are 'cause I wear a silly grin

The moment you come into view...

A smile stole across her face. The note was unsigned, but Harm hadn't taken any pains to disguise his handwriting. Mac closed the card, unconsciously tucking it against her heart for a moment before setting it back down beside the vase. Even she knew the next line of that song... _Chances are you think that I'm in love with you._

Mac couldn't contain her brilliant smile. Harm never did anything by half-measures, and the idea that he would now be bending that force-of-nature intensity to the pursuit of _her_ made her shiver in delighted anticipation.

__

And I'm supposed to resist? Mac heaved a sigh, her smile dimming. She understood instinctively that the only way the relationship would move forward was if she did exactly that. It was confusing, but at the same time made a lopsided sort of sense. He had his demons to exorcise, and she had hers. She had to admit this approach was a vast improvement over anything else they'd tried. But still, sometimes her heart cried out in impatience and frustration, echoes of the little girl who had never felt loved and who craved that feeling more than anything else in the world.

Mac pushed herself to her feet and grabbed her coffee cup from beneath the bouquet's overhanging fronds. Glancing inside, she noticed a number of white specks of pollen floating atop the dregs. Mac looked from her mug to her desk. Sure enough, a light sprinkling of white coated the area around the vase, as if a package of powdered sugar had exploded. Shaking her head, she brushed the nearby piles of manila folders as clean as she could manage. Nothing was ever totally perfect, was it? 

Mac leaned over to inhale the sweetly mixed scents from the flowers. No, neither the flowers nor the man who had sent them were completely perfect, but they were hers, and they brightened her life and warmed her heart in a way uniquely their own.

Humming _Chances Are_ beneath her breath, she left her office and headed toward the break room for fresh coffee. She rinsed her cup, then poured herself some fresh from the pot. She felt more than heard Harm walk up behind her—he must have just gotten back from meeting with his client.

"I've got that song stuck in my head now, too."

His breath stirred her hair, making her scalp tingle. She was acutely aware of his nearness, the strong line of his body scant inches from her own. It was a strangely comfortable sensation. Harm was the only man who could stand so inappropriately close to her, physically trapping her against the counter by his presence, yet not set off any of her internal alarms. 

Mac stared straight ahead, coffee cup frozen midair. "Well, it's catchy," she tempered, trying to sound nonchalant.

The comment earned her a snort as he moved to stand beside her. He pulled out the coffeepot and splashed some into his cup. He eyed the dark brown liquid dubiously. "Did you make this?"

Mac forced herself to adopt a bland expression before turning to look at him. "Nah. Harriet, I think."

His eyebrows rose a fraction, the blue eyes dancing with mischief. "It should be safe then." 

"Are you implying my coffee is dangerous?" she asked, raising her chin and meeting his gaze head-on.

The corners of his eyes crinkled, precursor to the full-blown grin that lit his face. "No more so than the woman who makes it." He saluted her with his mug and turned away.

Mac shook her head, chuckling, as he sauntered out of the room. 

#

Harm sank onto his couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table, ankles crossed. He took a sip from his beer, then leaned his head back against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. Mac hadn't said a word about the flowers all day. Did that mean she didn't like them? Or was she just playing it cool at the office? She _had_ been humming that song in the break room—of that he was certain—but she'd been pretty distant otherwise. All of which meant… what? 

Harm was still miffed that he hadn't been present when she received the flowers. The florist had promised an 1130 delivery, which they'd botched. Seeing Mac's initial reaction might have given him some better clue as to what she thought. Most women liked flowers, right? But Mac wasn't most women. 

He reopened his eyes and stared accusingly at the ceiling. Wasn't this new arrangement supposed to _un_-complicate their relationship?

After a while, he leaned forward, setting his beer down on the table. He knew at least one person he could trust to give him an honest analysis on the female mind. He picked up the cordless phone and dialed a familiar number.

His mother answered on the third ring. "Hello?" 

"Hi, Mom."

"Hello, Harm," she returned, a faint note of wariness in her voice. Harm ignored it in favor of the questions spinning in his head.

"Mom, women _like_ flowers, right? Even if they're for no reason? It's not some special occasion thing where there has to be a reason... because, if she's expecting there to be a reason and there _isn't _one, then she'll be mad about there not being a reason instead of just being happy about the flowers?"

There was a short pause on the other end of the phone. "Harm, dear, I have no idea what you're talking about," Trish Burnett admitted, the wariness replaced by warmth and a hint of laughter. "But should I take this to mean there's a new woman in your life?"

"Uh..." Harm hadn't really thought through what calling his mother on this subject would mean. But the admission might be worthwhile just to hear her sounding happy. "Not exactly a _new_ woman."

"Not exactly?"

Harm rolled his eyes as he clarified. "We've known each other for a while but haven't dated before."

"Ah. I see. Anyone I know?"

He felt a smile tugging at his mouth. "You've met."

"Hmmm." Harm could imagine her playful expression. "Someone at work?"

Harm shook his head. So much for the surprise. "Yes."

There was another pause. Then, distantly, he heard his mother call out, "Frank! Frank! Come here, honey! Harm and Mac are dating!"

At that, Harm couldn't help but laugh. His mother knew him all too well.

Frank came on a moment later. "Is that true, Harm? You and Mac?" His gravelly voice filled the line.

"Not that officially, but... yes." 

"Well, it's about time. That's wonderful."

Harm wriggled his shoulders, searching for a more comfortable position on the couch. "Thanks."

Frank gave the phone back to his wife.

"Now, Harm, dear, what were you saying about flowers?"

"Uh..." In light of their enthusiasm, his doubts about Mac's reaction seemed trivial. "Never mind, Mom. It's no big deal."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"All right, dear. But, just for the record, I think Mac would like wilted dandelions if you were the one giving them to her."

Harm felt a flush rising in his cheeks. His mother was far too astute. "So, flowers are a good thing?"

She laughed, a bright, silvery sound. "Always, dear. And for no reason is just as good, if not better, than having one."

Harm blinked. Now there was female logic if he'd ever heard it. "What else do women like?"

He could imagine his mother cocking her head at the question, a knowing smile on her face. "Are you trying to impress Mac?"

"She deserves it, don't you think?" Harm returned, knowing perfectly well that he'd inherited his cutthroat lawyering instincts from his mother. Generally, he did well just to hold his own during her cross.

Trish chuckled. "Of course she does, dear." She paused. "So, you're looking for suggestions on how to sweep her off her feet?"

"Something like that." Harm retrieved his beer. This conversation called for a drink. Possibly several. "I was thinking, maybe some of the romantic things Dad did when you guys were dating…"

His mother remained silent for a long moment. Too long. Harm's stomach sank.

"Mom?"

"Hold on, dear." She pulled the phone away from her mouth. "Frank, I'm going out to the patio."

A minute later, after a series of indistinct noises, Trish returned. "There. That's better."

Harm couldn't shake his sense of unease. "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't think about this being something you wouldn't want to talk about with Frank around."

She sighed, a soft, melancholy sound. "It's not that… Well, I suppose it is, but for your sake, not mine."

Harm stared at his toes, brows drawn. "You lost me," he admitted.

She sighed again. "Harm, I can give you all kinds of suggestions for how to show Mac you love her, but…"

Harm's thoughts stumbled over _you love her_, but didn't stay stalled for long. "But?"

"_But_…" She was starting to sound uncertain now. "They're all things Frank did, either when we were dating or since we've been married."

The words felt like a dash of ice water in his face. "What about Dad?" Harm managed to choke out through the sudden tightness in his throat.

He could almost hear her shrug. "I don't know what to tell you, Harm. I was only nineteen when I married him." Her voice took on a reminiscing note. "He was so dashing in his uniform, and so brave. I'd never met anybody like him. He could light up an entire room just by walking into it."

She came back to the present, her voice tinged with old disappointment. "But, truthfully, he wasn't much of a romantic. We already knew there was a war coming, and he was focused on flying…"

Harm could hardly breathe. He felt like his heart had literally been ripped out of him, leaving an empty hole. 

"Did you love him?" he asked harshly, and in that moment he heard Audrey's voice in his head, asking, _Did you love her?_ in the same hurt, angry tone. He covered his eyes with one hand, trying to push back the ache.

"Of course I did," his mother answered. "And he loved me." She sighed. "But he was never the love of my life. I'm sorry, Harm. I'm sure that hurts to hear, and until I met Frank I had no idea that what I felt for your father wasn't everything love can be." She paused. "I was so lost after he was shot down, so hurt, and I swore I would never let anyone do that to me again. But then I met Frank—" She swallowed convulsively. Harm could hear her gathering herself, her breath shaky. "And somehow he broke down all my walls, and gave me every reason in the world to believe that I could be happy—that I _deserved_ to be happy—"

Harm opened his eyes, staring blankly at the interior of his apartment without seeing any of it. The open devotion between his mother and Frank had always annoyed him, though he tried to bury that petty, shameful reaction deep down where no one would see it. He knew it was wrong to begrudge his mother the happiness she'd found, and he'd never really understood why he resented her relationship with Frank so much. Now he realized that it wasn't that his mother loved Frank that bothered him. It was that she loved him more than she'd ever loved Harmon Rabb, Sr.

But even that wasn't the truly cruel understanding, the one that twisted in his stomach like a knife. It was knowing what Audrey must have felt when she asked him the same question and received a far uglier answer.

"Harm?" His mother's worried voice brought him out of his reverie. "Are you still there?"

"I'm here," he answered faintly.

"I guess you probably hate me for betraying your father's memory like that—"

Harm sat up abruptly. "Stop, Mom." He ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts chaotic and frightening in their intensity. "I don't hate you. Not for that. Not for anything." He rose to his feet, unconsciously wiping his palm on his jeans as he circled behind the couch. "And if I ever did, I was wrong."

There was a long pause. 

"Thank you," Trish finally said. "That means a lot to me."

Harm stared at the floor. He didn't know how to respond. It hurt so much to let go of the ideal he'd held onto for so many years—the perfect family that had been torn away from him by fate and a North Vietnamese fighter. But in the harsh, pure light of reality, one realization became painfully clear. Harm had never lacked for family. He had had—and still did have—a mother and father who loved him, and each other. He'd done nothing but cause himself and them pain by trying to impose his vision of how their lives were supposed to be.

It was no wonder his mother resented him so deeply for going to Vietnam. It had been a slap in the face—a blatant refusal to accept the man she'd chosen to love, the life she'd tried to build for them—all for the sake of a memory she had long since allowed to fade.

"Harm?" His mother's voice sounded tinny and distant through the blood pounding in his ears. "Do you still want my input on some romantic things to do for Mac?"

Harm dragged himself back to the present, surprising himself with his answer. 

"Yeah, I do." The bitterness he'd harbored for so long felt brittle now, as if, at any moment, it might shatter into a million pieces and blow away. 

For the first time in his life, Harm realized, he wanted it to. He wanted to be rid of the burden—free of his past. There were better things in his life to anchor himself on than the father he'd lost thirty-three years earlier. 

Harm took a deep breath, and then did the one thing he never expected. 

He let go. 

"So, how exactly _did_ Frank sweep you off your feet?"

His mother chuckled, sounding delighted. "You'd better get a pen and some paper, dear. This may take a while."


	20. 20

Chapter 20

When Mac walked out of the Admiral's office, she found Harm, her partner and ersatz boyfriend, standing at Gunny's desk, leafing through a folder. Galindez stood with him, answering his questions about the contents.

"Well, I just discovered how to avoid ever having to work on the weekend again," Mac announced cheerfully as she approached the two, her throat tight from the conflicting amusement and mortification her conversation with their CO had generated.

Harm glanced up, raising an eyebrow at her tone. "Oh really?"

"Yeah. All I have to do is tell the Admiral I have a date with you and _poof_ my weekend magically clears." She raised both hands, wiggling her fingers in emphasis.

Harm closed the folder he was perusing and chuckled. "I guess that means my weekend is clear, too. You may just have hit on something here, Colonel."

She rolled her eyes. "That wasn't my point."

He shrugged, seeming unconcerned. "Don't knock it, Mac... at least for a little while. Besides, given the choice between working this weekend and taking you out, I know which one I'd pick."

The utterly businesslike tone with which he said it finally broke through Mac's reserve. She surrendered with a laugh. "All right. We'll do it your way for now."

Harm's expression immediately turned sly, the blue eyes going gray and smoky. He opened his mouth for a response, but she beat him to the punch.

"Red light, Commander."

The intense gaze gave way to an expression of laughing innocence. "What for? I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

His amusement deepened as he leaned toward her. "If you're going to start reading my mind, Mac, things are _definitely_ going to get more interesting around here." He winked conspiratorially, then turned to go.

Mac stared at his retreating figure, her cheeks hot. She could feel Gunny's gaze on her. When she risked a glance at Victor, she found him grinning in amusement.

"I hate to say it, ma'am, but I think the commander won that round."

Mac sighed, straightening her uniform as she feigned dejection. "I'm afraid so, Gunny." Then she smiled. "But even a squid can get in a lucky shot now and then."

Gunny chuckled. "Semper Fi, ma'am."

Mac made her way to her office, the smile still on her face. She dropped into her chair and stared at her computer.

__

Look at me, I'm grinning like a loon. And all from a single round of innuendo with Harm. She shook her head. Granted, he'd never dropped anything quite so definitive on her before, but still, flirting with Harm was nothing new.

__

O.k. Focus, MacKenzie. They weren't going out until Saturday night, and that was still three days away. She had to be productive in the meantime. _And I'm not supposed to be making this easy for him, either. _ She snorted. If even _she_ swooned at his feet—tough, independent Marine that she was—it would confirm that Harmon Rabb was indeed God's gift to women, which would make him impossible to live with forever after. No, she'd just have to suck it up and do what was necessary to keep her flyboy's ego in check.

Mac chuckled to herself as she went back to work. _It's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it._

#

Harm had to make a conscious effort not to whistle as he crossed the bullpen, headed toward Harriet's desk. The last thing he needed was to pour gasoline on the fire that was the JAG rumor mill. Mac was only part of the reason he felt so cheerful these days, but he doubted anyone in the office would care about such minor details. Since talking to his mother, Harm felt as though an incredible burden had lifted from his shoulders. He felt more relaxed—freer—than he could ever remember feeling. He found it hard not to bounce exuberantly through the bullpen when his earthbound days were suddenly filled with the kind of peace that he used to only find in flying. 

Harriet looked up as he neared. "Can I help you with something, sir?"

"Have those records I requested for the Peters court martial arrived yet?" Harm asked, his eyes straying to the framed photo of little A.J. that sat on the corner of her desk. He stared at it, realizing that he had no idea what his daughter had looked like as a child. The thought brought a pang of regret that blunted his euphoria.

"Not yet, sir." Harriet answered. She followed his gaze, her brow creasing in curiosity. "Commander?"

Harm shook himself back to the present. "Sorry, Harriet. I was just realizing that I don't have any pictures of Audrey. Don't know why it struck me all of a sudden."

She smiled gently. "Don't apologize, sir. I'm sure she'd be happy to send you one... or you could have some made. She'd probably like to have a picture of you, too."

Harm glanced at Harriet in surprise. That thought hadn't occurred to him, but the idea quickly gained momentum. Maybe he could drag Mac and Sergei along, too, and get a real family photo.

"How is Audrey doing?" Harriet asked, oblivious to his thoughts. "She looked absolutely wonderful at the ball."

Harm grinned proudly. "Yes, she did. She's leaving next week on a six-week training cruise aboard the _Patrick Henry_."

Harriet blinked as she absorbed the information. "That'll be... interesting, sir. Having your daughter on a training cruise with all your old squadron mates, I mean."

Harm groaned lightly. Trust Harriet to put _that_ together so quickly. "To put it mildly, Lieutenant," he agreed. "However, she'll be with a different squadron—Hornets rather than Tomcats."

"Does Colonel MacKenzie know?"

"Yes, and she's already done her share of teasing, thank you very much."

"My share of teasing about what?" Mac inquired as she walked by. She flashed Harm a sweet smile that Harm suspected had a wicked twin lurking somewhere behind it.

"Audrey's training cruise," Harm informed her and waited for the inevitable.

"Oh, that." The wicked smile peeked out for a moment. "The real question is, what will Captain Ingles do when he finds out he's getting another Rabb on his boat?"

"As far as I'm concerned, he's not _going_ to find out," Harm said. "Audrey deserves the chance to make her own way without having my shadow looming over her."

Mac gave him an appraising look. "Two DFCs _are_ a lot to live up to."

The oblique praise warmed him, though he tried not to let it show too much. "I was actually thinking of the two birds I've destroyed, but yeah, that, too."

Mac chuckled. "There's no denying you've had a colorful career, Harm. But if there's anyone who could possibly outdo you in that department, it's Audrey."

"Is this supposed to be encouraging me?"

She laughed, and Harm reflected how nice it was to hear that sound at work again.

Harriet grinned at her before changing the subject. "So where are you guys going on your date?"

Harm glanced sidelong at Mac. "How are we supposed to keep our personal lives out of the office if everyone keeps asking us about it?"

Mac ignored the rhetorical question, instead favoring Harriet with a warm smile. "I have no idea where we're going, Harriet. He hasn't told me."

Harriet bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, grinning from ear to ear. "Oooh, a surprise. How romantic."

Harm bit the inside of his lip, hoping neither woman could see the panic that statement generated. Yeah, he'd been planning to take her someplace nice, but did that live up to Harriet's image of a romantic evening? Would it live up to Mac's? Maybe he needed to rethink his plans. His mother had given him a nice pot of ideas to draw on… Hmmm. His panic subsided as he began turning possibilities over in his mind.

"_Hel_-lo. Earth to Harm."

Startled, Harm looked up to find both women staring at him. He cleared his throat self-consciously.

"Sorry, you were saying?"

Mac chuckled. "_I_ was dropping subtle hints that I don't know what kind of dress code is appropriate for our little shindig on Saturday, but since you obviously didn't hear a word of it, I guess I'm just going to have to be blunt."

"Our _shindig_?" Harm stared at her, amused by the choice of words.

Mac waved a hand airily. "Shindig, soiree, gala..." When he continued to stare at her, she flashed him a mock glare. "Our date, Harm."

He grinned. "Oh. Oh, that."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, that."

"I'll let you know."

Mac leaned toward Harriet conspiratorially, her expression playful. "You know, Lieutenant, this whole 'tall, dark and mysterious' thing just doesn't work for me."

"Tall, dark and mysterious?" Harm did his best to look wounded. "What happened to handsome?"

Mac just raised her eyebrows.

"Dress code?" she asked sweetly.

Harm met her warm, bewitching gaze and decided to give, on this round at least. He was pretty certain that if they escalated the banter any further, somebody would end up getting in trouble with the Admiral, and then where would their weekend be? Besides, Mac hated surprises. For all her teasing, he suspected that not knowing any details was eating her up inside.

Harm sighed theatrically, making a quick decision on his re-plan. "Casual, and bring a jacket."

Mac flashed him a superior smile and patted him lightly on the chest. "See, that wasn't so hard." Her fingers lingered an extra moment as she leaned toward him. Her voice dropped to a murmur than even Harriet would be hard pressed to catch. "And as for the handsome thing..." She stroked his buttons lightly, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Don't worry, Commander. Looks aren't everything."

Harm swallowed a startled laugh. "Oh, ouch, Colonel. Just for that, I ought to take you to a hoedown," he grumped as she turned away.

Mac sent him a smug look over her shoulder and shrugged. "I can squaredance."


	21. 21

Chapter 21

" Sergei!" Audrey noticed her uncle at the door of the bar. She jumped up, waving her hands to catch his attention. Sergei spotted her after a moment and came over. Audrey wrapped her arms around him in a hug, which he reciprocated, adding a quick kiss on either cheek.

"And how are you, lovely niece?" he asked as he took a seat at the table. The friendly little bar was located in downtown Annapolis, a favorite hangout for students from both the Academy and nearby colleges. The Saturday afternoon crowd was already starting to give way to the night set—couples stopping by before going to dinner or a movie, and groups of friends arriving to spend the evening listening to the amateur band that would be starting up soon. 

Smiling, Audrey sat down across from Sergei and shrugged. "I'm good."

He cocked his head, studying her in a deceptively innocent manner. "Harm says you will be going to an aircraft carrier next week, for a training cruise."

Audrey nodded, head bobbing in excitement. She couldn't help the huge smile that split her face. "I am. I'll be attached to a Hornet squadron. I get to do a check ride this year, too. I absolutely cannot _wait_."

Sergei chuckled and shook his head. "I do not understand what you and my brother see in fighters. Helicopters, now—" He started laughing when she made a face.

"Truly, helicopters are much more fun to fly," he protested.

Audrey shrugged. "Sure, if you like flying slow and close to the ground."

"Ah, but they are far more maneuverable than your jets."

"_Maneuverable?_" she sputtered. "What do you call pulling nine g's?"

Sergei grinned. "It is... excessive. That is the word, correct?"

"Yes—No." Audrey stopped short and wagged her finger at him. "Yes, that word means what you think, but it's not _correct_ by a long shot."

"Well, you cannot turn a fighter on its nose, now can you?"

Laughing, Audrey held up both hands, forming a "T". "Time out. Let's leave the argument about whose aircraft is better until another time, o.k.?"

"O.k." he agreed with an easy grin. Audrey had the distinct feeling that he was enjoying the debate for its own sake.

She rolled her eyes. "Maybe you should become a lawyer, too."

He leaned back in his chair. "No thank you. I think two lawyers in the family are enough."

Audrey eyed him curiously, knowing exactly what he meant by the comment. "They are quite a pair, aren't they?" She had honestly never met two people who seemed more perfect for each other than her father and Mac. But that didn't entirely quell the angry voice in the back of her mind that demanded... not retribution exactly, but a balancing out of all the things both she and her mother had suffered.

"Hey, Audrey!" A new voice intruded on her thoughts. 

Audrey looked up, startled, to find Brent standing beside her chair. 

He grinned at her reaction. "Gonna have to work on those fighter pilot reflexes."

She shoved him playfully. He dodged, stepped around behind her chair and grabbing the back in both hands.

"So, are you going to introduce me?" he asked with a nod in Sergei's direction.

Audrey waved to the empty chair beside her. "Sure. Grab a seat. Brent McClellan, meet Sergei Zhukov. Sergei is..." She eyed her uncle for a moment. "A relative of mine." He smirked and she quickly went on. "Sergei, this is Brent. He's in my company at the Academy."

The two men shook hands. "Nice to meet you," Brent said.

"And you," Sergei answered in his thick Russian accent.

Brent glanced at Audrey, raising his eyebrows. "You have the most interesting relatives."

Audrey laughed at his expression. "You don't know the half of it." She shook her head, caving. Brent was one of the few who knew the truth about her father, so he might as well hear the rest. "Sergei is actually my uncle, despite being a few months younger than I am." She gave him a quick recap of Rabb family history.

"So you've taken American citizenship because your father was an American?" Brent asked Sergei once she'd finished.

He nodded. "I was a prisoner of the Chechnyans for a while, until the CIA traded two boxcars of wheat for my release, because of my American father. But, since the rebels would never have released me to my countrymen, it meant I had to come here, to America. My mother is very sad that I cannot return to Russia."

"Whoa, you were a prisoner... like, a POW?" Brent was obviously startled by the idea. But then, Sergei didn't look any different from the two dozen other twenty-one year old students filling the tables around them. Until you looked closely.

Audrey watched with interest as Sergei's easygoing demeanor fell away, exposing the soldier who had fought an ugly war for his country. 

"Yes," he said simply.

"Sergei is a helicopter pilot," Audrey injected into the silence following that statement. "We have a running disagreement about which aircraft is better—a fighter or a helicopter."

Brent snorted. "Fighter, no question."

Audrey grinned at her uncle. "That makes it me, Dad, and Brent against you."

Sergei shrugged. "Do not forget Mac. She hates fighters, so she is on my side."

Audrey paused, her good mood momentarily sapped. She flashed Sergei a sour look.

He raised his hands. "What? Harm told me she gets sick any time she is in a fighter. She has no problem in helicopters."

Audrey looked down at her hands for a moment before meeting Sergei's expressive blue eyes. "Mac hates fighters because Dad loves them, Sergei. Airsickness has nothing to do with it."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, until Brent interrupted them.

"Um, do I dare ask who Mac is?" He looked between them, a furrow of concern etched between his eyebrows.

Audrey leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, and made a conscious effort to lighten her mood. They were supposed to be having a good time tonight. It wasn't the right time to dwell on her deeply conflicted feelings about Sarah MacKenzie.

She waved his concern away with a somewhat strained smile. "My dad's girlfriend—though she'd probably kill me if she heard me call her that." The joke came out flat. At Brent's odd look, she added, "She's a Marine light colonel—a lawyer who works at JAG with him."

"Ah." Brent's expression turned solemn. He stared at Audrey until she began to feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

"What?"

"You're jealous."

The statement struck her like a slap. She reared back in her seat, fingers catching the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip.

Brent stared at her, unperturbed. "See, you are."

Audrey glared at him. "I am _not_ jealous of Mac! I'm the one who got them together!"

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Brent told Sergei in an undertone. 

Sergei gave him a blank stare. He didn't know Shakespeare.

Audrey tried to wrest her emotions under some semblance of control. Sergei turned back to her, watching with compassion and concern, and she felt a surge of affection for him. He understood the tangled, sometimes deeply painful currents that ran through their family.

Audrey took a deep breath. "I'm not _jealous_ of Mac," she said when she had her voice under control. "Not most of the time, anyway." Brent's expression lightened at her admission. "I like her a lot, and Dad's absolutely head over heels for her, and I'm happy for them. I really am."

Brent cocked his head. "But?"

When she didn't immediately respond, he raised his hands. "Look, this is all probably none of my business, so I'll butt out if you tell me to, but it seems like I hit a nerve." He stared into her eyes, his gaze honest and compelling.

Sighing, Audrey leaned back in her chair, studying the two men with her. Sergei's expression was warm, but guarded. Brent's was openly curious. She picked up her napkin, toying with it as she tried to sort out what she wanted to say.

"Sometimes, it just makes me mad that he's happy with somebody else," she finally said. She stared, unseeing, at her hands, which were busy folding and refolding the bar napkin. She ran her fingers along each crease, feeling the rough paper on her fingertips. "I know that sounds stupid because my mom died almost fourteen years ago now. And it's not like there was anything between them, anyway." She couldn't help the bitter note that crept into her voice.

Under her ministrations, the napkin had become a sleek, swept-wing paper airplane. Audrey didn't notice, as long-buried feelings rose inside her. 

"Mom really hated him." The admission nearly choked her. She shook her head as she fiddled with the wings, making minute adjustments to their shape. "She'd never say so out loud, of course—" Abruptly, she crumpled the napkin into a ball and threw it down in the center of the table.

"How do you live with being somebody's mistake?" She stared across the table at her uncle and her best friend, biting her lip in defiance of the tears that burned her eyes. Neither one moved for a long moment.

Sergei was the first to stir. "Surely you do not think that Harm regrets being your father... do you?" He looked genuinely worried.

"I don't know what I think!" she snapped in return, and instantly regretted her tone. "I'm sorry." She reached across the table to lay a hand on his arm. "No, I don't really believe that."

"Good." Sergei covered her hand with his own, squeezing it tightly.

"But it's still true. I _am_ a really big mistake he made when he was sixteen."

Brent slouched down in his seat, reaching out to cradle his beer in both hands, and gave her an uncompromising stare. "And as much as that probably sucks, would you rather he hadn't done it?"

Audrey had to chew on the question for a moment. Would she? The answer became obvious as she thought about it.

"No, of course not. I wouldn't exist."

Brent raised his mug in silent toast before taking a sip. 

Audrey sighed. "But just because I'm glad to be alive doesn't mean I can't wish the circumstances were better." She gave both men a helpless look. "I keep wondering what it would have been like to grow up with him..." She looked away. "It probably would have been a disaster, I know—married and a kid at seventeen. Maybe he wouldn't have gone to the Academy or become a pilot. Maybe I would have wrecked his whole life and he would have hated me for it, but—"

"But?" Brent prompted.

Audrey bit her lip. A strong hand closed around her chest, squeezing out her breath. "But maybe my mom would have been happy." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Maybe she wouldn't have died."

Sergei stared at her in dismay. Gravely, he reached across the table to take both of her hands in his. "Did she..." He frowned. "I do not know the English word. Did she end her own life?"

"The word is 'suicide'," Brent supplied quietly, his eyes fixed on Audrey.

Audrey could only stare at him as the anger she had buried for so long clawed its way to the surface. "There's no way to know why she lost control of her car," she grated. "It was late at night and the highway was wet. The police ruled it an accident."

"You don't look like you believe that." Brent continued to watch her warily.

"I don't know what I believe!" She lost control of the tears, which slipped down her cheeks until she wiped them away with the back of her hand. "All I know is that there should have been somebody there to take care of us!" She drew a shaking breath, fighting for control as she stared at him. "She was all I had."

Sergei shoved his chair back abruptly. Audrey looked up in alarm as he rose to his feet and came around the table. But then he held out his arms to her, and she gladly jumped up, throwing herself into his embrace. 

"Not any more, lovely niece," Sergei told her as his hand stroked her hair. "Now you have me, and you have Harm, and even Mac." She felt him shift to look toward Brent. "And it seems that you have at least one good friend who cares very much for you as well."

The words loosened something inside Audrey. She'd been alone for so long that it was hard to comprehend having a family—people to depend on.

With a last sniffle, she dried her eyes on his shoulder, then squeezed him tightly. "Sergei, you're the best."

He pulled back enough for her to see his grin. "I know."

#

Mac looked around curiously as she got out of the car. An hour's drive had brought them to the coast, to a little stretch of boardwalk with quaint, well-weathered buildings and the almost overpowering smell of the sea. A forest of masts was just visible over the rooftops, each bobbing to its own rhythm as if caught up in a stately dance to music no human could hear.

"This is nice," she told Harm over the hood of the car, sounding surprised despite her best effort.

He flashed her a brief, injured look. "What were you expecting?"

She shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. "I don't know. We haven't exactly done anything like this before."

"Like what?"

"Like... a date."

His expression softened. He closed his door, then walked around the front of the car, stopping with her open door between them. "Then I guess we'll just have to figure it out as we go."

Feeling oddly relieved, Mac nodded. "O.k." She stepped back and closed her door. They stared at each other for a long moment, until Harm offered his hand. Mac took it, unable to contain her smile as his fingers twined with hers.

They wandered down onto the boardwalk, shoes thumping hollowly with every step. The sun had only just begun to set, turning the sky golden. Gulls wheeled overhead, their shrill cries perfect counterpoint to the water lapping against the pier. There were a number of people about—enough to give the place a festive atmosphere, but not so many that it seemed crowded. 

They turned into one of the larger buildings, which had a faded signboard swinging over the doorway that said "Mackie's" and a picture of a leaping swordfish. The interior of the restaurant was rough, but charming. Checkered tablecloths covered the tables, each of which was adorned with a single candle in a hurricane shade. Fishnets, anchors and other paraphernalia covered the walls.

"How did you find this place?" Mac asked as they stood inside the door, waiting for someone to notice them.

Harm glanced down at her, his gaze absent. "One of Frank's best friends from way back lives out here. We spent the summer with him and his family when I was twelve. I spent the entire summer sailing with their two boys." He looked over the restaurant. "Had a blast, as long as I wasn't around my mom and Frank. They were still honeymooning, pretty much."

Mac winced sympathetically, hearing the old pain in his voice. "I guess that was pretty hard to watch."

He shrugged. "Yeah. At the time, anyway. Now I feel like... I don't know... like a selfish, resentful idiot for not being happy for them."

Mac raised both eyebrows at his vehemence. But before she could think of something to say, he squeezed her hand with a rueful smile. "Can we find something else to talk about? I really want to spend the evening enjoying your company, not rehashing old mistakes."

Mac blinked, but was happy to accommodate him. "Sure." She searched for a safe topic as the hostess came to lead them to a table. "What do you know about fixing dishwashers?"

They talked companionably over dinner, which consisted of iced tea and Mackie's "Mile-High" pile of crab legs. It seemed distinctly strange to Mac that, here they were, on a _date,_ and it was just like any of a hundred other meals they'd shared over the last six years, except for the novelty of holding his hand across the intimate little table. (And even that had only lasted until the crab legs arrived.) Though the reasons were different now, they both continued to avoid any behavior with distinctly sexual overtones, which left them with the abiding friendship they shared but little else.

Licking butter and crab juice from her fingers, Mac decided to broach the topic. It was liable to cause one of those uncomfortable moments between them, but at least there was no deeply romantic mood to shatter. She was discovering that she got more answers to her questions when she actually asked them... so long as she didn't apply too much pressure.

Mac took a deep, preparatory breath. "Do you mind if I ask a strange and probably loaded question?"

Harm froze, iced tea glass halfway to his lips. Though his face remained still, the blue eyes darkened with quiet terror. He swallowed, then nodded, setting his glass back down. "Go ahead."

"How hard to get am I supposed to be?"

The question earned her a very startled stare, and a short bark of laughter. "You weren't kidding, were you?"

Mac recognized the caustic humor for what it was and didn't take offense. "Nope," she agreed easily.

Harm sat back, absently wiping his hands on his napkin while he studied her. Mac bit her lip, forcing herself to stay silent. He was always so inscrutable when he was thinking, and it drove her nuts. But, if she gave him time to work through whatever was going on behind that flat mask, she found she often got a comprehensible answer.

The silence grew thick around them, but eventually he stirred. "I guess the answer to that is, however hard to get you honestly believe you deserve to be."

Mac flinched, her stomach balling into a tight knot. She could feel her face heat as defensive anger flooded her, bringing a rush of adrenaline. In one sentence, Harm had managed to find her greatest character flaw and wave it directly under her nose.

He gave her a warning look. "Mac, I didn't say that to make you mad." 

"Then why did you?" She kept her voice down with an effort of will. She'd grown up with her father's slurred, angry voice in her ears, telling her all the ways she'd screwed up. All the ways she'd failed him as a daughter. All the reasons he had for not loving her. If Harm ever got a truly good look at who Sarah MacKenzie was, she was desperately afraid he would turn and run as fast as he could in the other direction. Even more terrifying now was the possibility that he had already seen right through her. Then where would she be?

"Mac, look at me." His voice, gentle and insistent, pulled her from her frantic thoughts. 

Unable to resist, she raised her eyes to his and was immediately lost in their stormy depths.

"I wasn't criticizing," Harm told her, his gaze filled with dismay. "Just making an observation. I hope you can believe that I would never—would never—" She watched him struggle with words that seemed to lodge in his throat. He laid both palms on the tabletop, fingers spread, as if bracing himself. "That I would never love you any less for not being perfect."

Mac's breath caught. She stared at Harm, stunned speechless. 

He slowly relaxed into his seat, one corner of his mouth curling upward in a wry smile.

"I realized I just shocked us both, but I meant what I said." His gaze speared her, limitless and intense. "I do love you. Only, this thing between us is never going to work if we can't kill some of these destructive tendencies we both have." He broke into a cheerfully smug smile. "And since I'm doing so well at making inroads with mine..."

Mac laughed despite herself. "You're definitely setting some personal records, there." Her humor quickly died, as did his. "So I guess that makes it my turn, doesn't it?"

He shrugged, his eyes never leaving her face. "Only if you want." 

She sighed, deciding that the least she could do was return his honesty. "What I _want _is some way to believe that—" she waved a hand between them. "—that this is real, and that, fifty years from now you're still going to be there every morning when I wake up, looking at me like you are right now." She looked toward the ceiling, fighting to keep her composure. "I want the happily ever after that everybody says is out there. But how do I capture something I've never seen and can hardly imagine?"

Harm cocked his head, his gaze hooded. "The same way you've gotten every other good thing in your life, Sarah," he told her quietly. "You fight for it."


	22. 22

Chapter 22

The next month passed in somewhat static fashion, though, if they had to be stuck somewhere, Harm thought, it was a pretty good place. A couple of major trials had kept them both very busy. Their workplace banter remained as sharp as ever, but they'd managed to find a few quiet evening to spend together here and there. He was determined not to push Mac, but to let her come to her own decisions in her own time. He wasn't going anywhere without her.

As if on cue, the object of his thoughts came breezing by his office door. "Harm, the Admiral wants to see us, ASAP."

"On my way," he answered to her retreating back. He caught up to her just outside the Admiral's office and they went inside together.

"Have a seat, Commander, Colonel," Admiral Chegwidden told them with a wave of a plain manila folder. He handed Mac the folder, which she immediately opened.

"Commander, how is Audrey fairing? She's aboard the _Patrick Henry_ right now, correct?"

Unable to peer over Mac's shoulder while his CO was asking questions, Harm tried to contain his curiosity about the new case. "Yes, sir. I haven't heard from her since she left, but I assume it's going well."

"Well, here's your chance to find out," Chegwidden said. "I'm sending you both to the _Henry_ at Captain Ingles' request. They've had a streak of mishaps the Captain suspects are sabotage. They already know who's responsible, they think, but he has requested a JAGMAN investigation to determine whether it's just a disgruntled seaman, or something more organized."

The Admiral paused, folding his hands before him on the desk. His expression turned more solemn than usual, causing the two officers seated before him to stiffen. 

"I doubt I need to say this, but I will anyway, just in case."

Harm and Mac shared a brief look. That didn't sound good.

Chegwidden continued, "You two have managed to keep this new relationship of yours out of the office—as much as could reasonably be expected, at least." For a moment, the barest hint of a smile shadowed his face before the stern mask fell into place once again. "However, let me just remind you to leave it behind when you head out to the _Henry_. No matter how much the captain likes you two, he's not going to tolerate any inappropriate behavior." 

"Aye, sir," they chorused, sharing another silent look. There was a certain degree of mortification inherent in sitting in this office having a two star admiral basically remind you not to get caught hotbunking aboard the carrier.

Chegwidden studied them for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. That will be all."

"Aye, sir." Together, they came to attention and left the office.

"Well, we knew _that_ was coming," Mac muttered as they headed back out into the bullpen. 

"Didn't make it any more pleasant," Harm returned with a half-hearted grin.

She reflected the smile back at him. "At least it's over." She switched gears. "What are you going to do if we run into Audrey while we're there?"

Harm had been wondering the same thing. "I don't know, Mac. I guess I'll have to let her make that call." He gave her a frustrated look. "I wish I'd thought to talk to her about it before she left, though."

Mac smiled gently. "Don't stress over it, partner. What's the worst that could happen—she'll have to live down being Harm Rabb's kid? I think she can probably manage that."

Harm sighed, feeling a strange sense of defeat. "After everything I've already done to her, Mac, I guess I just can't stand the thought of causing her any more problems."

That earned him a brief, sympathetic glance. Mac patted his arm. "It'll be fine. You'll see."

#

Harm jumped down from the deck of the helo, then turned to offer Mac a hand. She took it with a smile, her grip just a fraction too intimate for the setting. She was turning into a delightful tease, Harm thought. Or maybe she always had been and he'd just been determined not to notice.

She stepped down, and he reluctantly released her hand. The ship's protocol officer, a perky young ensign that reminded him of a brunette Harriet Simms, waited to greet them. They exchanged salutes, and Ensign Larson turned to lead them toward their quarters.

The smell of the sea air combined with the ever-present stink of jet fuel blew into Harm's face as they moved away, bringing a smile. How he missed carrier life. But those days were behind him except for these short, precious visits. To be honest, that was probably for the best. As much as the place and the lifestyle tugged at him, they no longer held the power over him they once did. Other things had taken predominance in his heart, the most powerful of which walked a couple of paces ahead of him, chatting politely with the ensign.

Following a familiar routine, they dropped their bags in their quarters and headed for the bridge to see Captain Ingles.

"JAG on the bridge!" a petty officer announced when they stepped through the hatch, but none of the personnel working at the various stations even glanced their way. The tension in the room was unusually thick, and Harm immediately spotted the reason.

Two people stood braced at attention in front of a scowling Captain Ingles. One, a man, wore a flight suit. The other—Harm sucked in his breath—the other was Audrey. Dismay hit him like a blow. 

Harm and Mac drifted closer, stopping a proper distance away from the unhappy scene. Captain Ingles ignored them, but Harm saw his daughter's gaze flicker to the new arrivals. Her eyes widened when she recognized him, but then she jerked her gaze forward again, a dark flush staining her cheeks.

Harm felt Mac's fingers grip his sleeve, as if she were afraid she might need to restrain him from leaping to Audrey's defense. For his part, Harm stood rooted in place. He wasn't sure he could have moved if his life depended on it.

Ingles' hard stare never wavered from the two in front of him. "Cadet, you say Lieutenant Penn was already upset with you before the incident in the wardroom, which is why it escalated so quickly. Would you care to explain?"

Audrey swallowed visibly. "Sir, earlier today while we were reviewing the simulated combat sortie flown by Lieutenants Durham and Penn, the CAG asked me what I thought of Lieutenant Penn's choice to go to guns and close with his opponent. I told him I thought it was an unnecessary risk when the lieutenant still had tomahawks on the rails and sufficient time to get a lock."

Ingles watched her appraisingly. "So you publicly criticized a superior officer?"

Harm bit his lip. The lawyer in him wanted to jump all over that one.

Audrey's fingers twitched at her sides. "In a situation where constructive criticism is supposed to be welcome, sir." Her dark eyes flashed.

Harm swallowed a smile. Whether right or wrong, Audrey obviously wasn't going to be intimidated.

The captain's expression said he'd reached a similar conclusion. "Did the CAG agree with your analysis, Cadet?"

"Yes, sir."

Beside her, Lieutenant Penn glared.

The captain looked between them then focused on Audrey. "And the incident in the wardroom? Are you going to try to convince me that you had sufficient provocation to justify throwing a glass of orange juice on the lieutenant?"

"Sir, I didn't _throw_ it. I jumped to my feet because I was mad, and I bumped the table with my leg." She took a somewhat shaky breath. "I did knock the glass off into Lieutenant Penn's lap, but it wasn't intentional, sir."

Captain Ingles continued to stare at her. "And you were mad because...?"

Audrey pressed her lips together for a moment, obviously torn.

Ingles sharpened his glare. "The truth, Cadet. That's an order."

She took a deep breath. "Yes, sir. Lieutenant Penn is my mentor for the week, sir, and I had asked him when we were supposed to report to the ready room for our next briefing. He told me not to 'worry my pretty little head about it'." She bit the words out, her tone mocking. "If I wanted to be that shallow, sir, I'd be walking runways in New York." She raised her chin. "I joined the Navy to fly combat aircraft. Neither my sex nor my appearance ought to have any bearing."

Ingles raised an eyebrow at the ringing statement. He turned a deceptively mild expression on the lieutenant. "Is this true, Lieutenant?"

Penn's anger was locked away behind an impassive mask, though neither the captain nor the part-time aviator standing off to the side a ways was fooled.

"I did say that, sir," the lieutenant admitted hoarsely. "And the cadet would have been in her rights to throw a red light." He glanced venomously at Audrey. "But she started a fight instead."

Audrey opened her mouth to protest, but snapped it closed at the captain's glare. "You've had your chance to talk, Cadet," he told her.

He turned back to Penn. "By starting a fight, you mean she stood up and dumped a glass of orange juice on you, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did she do anything else?"

Penn gave his head a minute shake. "No, sir. A couple of the guys stepped between us, so that was pretty much the end of it."

Ingles stared at them for a moment longer then turned to Harm and Mac. "Commander, Colonel, would you two care to lend your informed opinion to the matter since you're here?"

Harm's stomach sank. He'd been hoping against hope that the captain would leave them out of it. Audrey, of course, had already noticed their presence, but Lieutenant Penn paled to see the two high ranking JAGs standing there.

Harm flashed Mac a look of appeal and read her answer to his question in her eyes. As much as he wanted to defend Audrey, he couldn't help her. Anything he did would cause more harm than good.

He met the captain's eyes. "I'm afraid it would be inappropriate for me to render a judgement in this case, sir."

That obviously wasn't a response the already annoyed captain was expecting. His expression darkened. "Would you care to explain why, Commander?" he snapped.

Harm bit back his sigh. "Because Cadet Le is my daughter, sir." He sent Audrey an apologetic look. "I can't be totally unbiased."

Captain Ingles stared at him. "I... see." He gave Harm a quizzical stare. "I don't remember you ever mentioning you had a daughter during your tour here, Commander."

"At the time, I didn't know, sir." Harm kept his face impassive with an effort of will. It hurt to admit that he was one of _those_ men, one who could have a child and not know about it.

He thought he saw an echo of disappointment in the captain's gaze. "Very well." Ingles turned back to the two still locked at attention before him.

"Lieutenant, as the senior officer as well as the cadet's assigned mentor, I'm holding you responsible for this little debacle. Your comment was wholly inappropriate, and showed remarkably poor judgement. I'm going to put a letter of reprimand in your record, to be removed after six months if there are no more incidents like this one. In the future, I suggest you think more carefully before you speak." 

"Yes, sir," the pilot answered stiffly.

Ingles shifted his focus to Audrey. "Cadet, until today your performance on this ship has been excellent, and I am hoping that this will turn out to be an aberration in your behavior. However, let me give you some advice: Fair or not, the reality is that you will receive a fair share of derogatory comments as a female combat pilot. I suggest you learn to deal with it without letting your temper get the best of you."

"Yes, sir." Audrey looked abashed.

He looked the pair over once more. "Very well, you're dismissed."

"Aye, sir." Both saluted, then pivoted smartly to leave. Lieutenant Penn's stride crackled with restrained anger. Audrey glanced once at Harm, her expression unreadable, then followed the lieutenant off the bridge.

When they were gone, Captain Ingles let out a long sigh and shook his head. 

"She's so much like you it's frightening, Commander," he told Harm with a wry smile. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "And she gives me the same kind of headache."

"Aye, sir," Harm agreed, not feeling it was safe to say anything more. 

Mac looked up at him with a trace of a smirk. "Like you, she couldn't stay out of trouble if her life depended on it."

Ingles chuckled. "Mister Rivers," he called over his shoulder.

"Sir?" The ship's XO, Commander Rivers, walked over.

Ingles eyed Harm as he spoke to his second in command. "I know the Navy has had a couple of fathers and sons who've flown together, but has there ever been a father-daughter duo?"

The XO shot the captain a startled look. "No, sir. Not that I know of."

Ingles turned to Harm. "The cadets attached to our air wing are doing check flights tomorrow. We have a couple of F-18's equipped for reconnaissance, with full controls in both cockpits, so they get a feel for what the real thing looks like. If the pilot's confident, they might even give the cadet a chance at the stick."

Harm wasn't entirely sure where the captain was going with this, since he wasn't checked out on the F-18.

Ingles went on, "Seeing as we're at war, we always send up a cover flight along with our mentor pilots, just in case. If you can spare the time from your investigation, Commander, I think it might be fun to make a little Navy history."

Harm couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "Yes, sir. I'm sure Colonel MacKenzie can manage without me for a couple of hours tomorrow." 

Out of the corner of his eye he caught Mac's expression and smiled even wider.

#

Audrey sat alone at a table in the pilot's wardroom, eating her dinner and wishing she could become invisible. A current of speculation swirled around her from the men and a few women who stood or sat in little clusters in the small room. A card game was going on a few tables away, but other than that, the room was quietly buzzing.

"Mind if I join you?" a female voice asked.

Startled, Audrey looked up to find an unfamiliar woman with a lieutenant's insignia on her flight suit standing next to the table, dinner tray in hand. She wore her blond hair in a neat bun and was pretty in a tomboyish way. Audrey put her in her late twenties.

After she recovered from her surprise, Audrey shook her head. "Not at all, ma'am." She glanced around the room. "I could use the company."

The lieutenant made a quick survey also as she slipped into the seat opposite Audrey. "They giving you trouble?"

Audrey sighed. "No, just the cold shoulder."

The woman smiled brightly. "Don't let 'em get to you." She held out her hand. "My name is Elizabeth Hawkes, by the way."

Audrey returned the handshake. "Audrey Le. It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

"Actually, the pleasure's all mine. And call me Beth."

"Yes, ma'am... Beth." 

Lieutenant Hawkes smiled. "I have to be honest. I'm partly here because I've been hearing a rumor floating around all day and I'm dying to know if it's true." She shrugged, her demeanor so engaging Audrey found it hard to take offense. "I also thought you could use a little moral support, one female aviator to another."

"Thanks." Audrey took a sip from her drink to give her a minute to collect her thoughts. "Which rumor did you want to hear about?" she finally asked. "There are a couple."

Beth chuckled. "The one about Hammer being your dad. The commander and I got to be pretty good friends when I was flying with him, and I'm going to kill him if he's been holding out on me."

Audrey recognized her father's call sign and stared at the other woman. She'd been his RIO? 

"It's true," Audrey admitted after a minute. "But we've only known each other for a couple of months."

Beth's smile widened as her gaze went over Audrey's shoulder. "Speak of the devil." She raised a hand and waved toward the door. "Hey, Hammer!"

Audrey turned to see her father and Mac start their direction. When they drew near, Beth jumped to her feet and wrapped her arms around Harm's neck in a huge hug. Mac watched them with an indulgent smile, so Audrey decided Beth must not any kind of threat.

"Skates, it's good to see you!" Harm said when they separated. "How's married life?"

Mac gathered a couple of chairs from a nearby table, which the new arrivals settled into as Beth answered.

"Fantastic, sir." She grinned pointedly at him. "You should try it sometime."

He chuckled, cutting his gaze toward Mac. "I just might."

Beth froze, her gaze going from Harm to Mac and back again. "Are you _serious_?" 

"Not yet," Mac said with an amused smile. "But we'll see."

For a moment, Audrey thought her father might take exception to that, but he settled for a raised eyebrow and a challenging look, which Mac ignored. While Beth scavenged details from Mac, Harm turned to Audrey, reaching a hand across the table to cover her own.

"Hey, baby," he said softly.

Audrey managed a lopsided smile. "Hi, Dad." She could see the sympathy in his gaze, which both comforted and angered her. She hated _needing_ sympathy from anyone, but since she did, it felt good.

"These kids giving you too much trouble?" her dad asked, his gaze making a quick sweep of the room. No one seemed to be paying their table any special attention, but Audrey could feel the eyes on them.

She shook her head. "No, I'm fine." She shrugged. "I have to deal with it."

He accepted that with a nod.

Beth leaned over to nudge Harm in the shoulder. "Hey, did you hear Tuna got stuck with a nugget RIO?"

Audrey's dad grinned. "I'll bet he loved that."

"Oh, yeah. Especially when they made the poor kid's call sign 'Crackers'."

Audrey covered her mouth to stifle her giggle, but her father threw his head back, laughing aloud. "Tuna and Crackers?"

Beth's eyes danced merrily. "You should've seen the CAG's face the first time he called that one out during preflight."

"I'll bet."

Beth waved her fork as she talked. "Tuna's lobbying for a new call sign now, but unless he pulls a stunt like your tail hook escapade, I doubt he'll get it."

Harm snorted. "Don't you mean _our_ tail hook escapade?"

Beth shook her head firmly. "No, sir. I was a wreck up there, remember?" She turned to Audrey, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "I'm really glad they gave him the DFC for that. It was worth a medal anyway, but even more so since he had to keep his RIO together at the same time."

Harm gave her a solemn stare. "I remember it a little differently, Skates. You got the job done, which is all that matters."

Beth raised her eyebrows. "See? I just about panicked and got us both killed, and he still trusts me. Hammer's an excellent pilot, but that's not the main reason I would jump at the chance to fly with him again."

Audrey stared at her as the meaning of the words slowly sank in. Trust between a pilot and RIO, or pilot and navigator in the case of the F-18, was paramount. In this tight knit community of aviators, anyone who couldn't be trusted became a pariah. Audrey already had an inkling of what that felt like.

The conversation continued between her father, Beth and Mac, but Audrey had ceased listening. What did it mean for her future as a pilot, she wondered, if the last person she'd truly trusted had died when she was eight?


	23. 23

Chapter 23

Audrey stood in front of the nondescript metal hatch for several minutes, trying to work up the nerve to knock. A few people passed by her in the narrow hall, most of them pilots or navigators, and each one gave her a funny look but said not a word to her. Finally, Audrey raised her hand and rapped smartly on the metal.

The hatch opened. Lieutenant Penn stared at her in obvious surprise. He was barefoot, dressed in a squadron t-shirt and shorts, his dark hair mussed from sleep. He ran a hand through it self-consciously before stepping back and gesturing for Audrey to enter.

Fingers laced together in front of her, Audrey did so. "I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you, Lieutenant," she began hesitantly. She turned to face him as she spoke, her eyes sweeping the little room as she did so. A swimsuit calendar hung on one wall, next to a poster of the Blue Angels and a smaller picture, just a page ripped from a magazine, of rock climbers navigating a tall face of gray stone. Clothes lay piled in a heap in one corner of the room, awaiting laundry day, no doubt.

Jason Penn shrugged. "I had to be up anyway. What do you want, Cadet?"

Audrey completed her turn and raised her eyes to his. Barefoot, he was perhaps an inch shorter than she, if that much, and watched her from behind a shield of defensive anger.

"I—I came to apologize. For yesterday."

His eyes narrowed. "I thought you were claiming it was all an accident."

"It was." Facing his accusing stare brought back every memory Audrey had ever tried to bury of her uncle. Nothing she'd ever done had been good enough for him. She had learned not to back down. "If I'd done it intentionally, that orange juice would've been in your face, sir, not your lap."

Penn snorted as amusement leaked through his cold mask. His expression softened by a degree. "Then what are you apologizing for?"

Audrey looked down at her hands. "I defended myself without thinking about how it might affect anyone around me. I was—and still am, actually—offended by your comment, but causing a scene was inappropriate, and probably destroyed any ability I had to be useful to the squadron."

She risked a glance upward, only to be met with a frank, surprised stare. 

"Apology accepted, Cadet," he said after a moment.

Audrey nodded. "Thank you, sir." She took a step toward the door, halting as he held out a hand.

"Can I ask you a question?"

She nodded again, a slow knot forming in her gut.

He let his hand fall. "Did you mean what you said about walking runways in New York?"

She cocked her head. "You mean, could I really have been a supermodel, sir?"

"Yeah."

She flashed him a tight smile. "They started offering me modeling contracts when I was fourteen."

He raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips in a silent whistle. "That's some seriously good money. Why didn't you take it?"

Audrey shrugged. There weren't very many people who could understand her answer, but Lieutenant Penn was probably one of them. "Because all I ever wanted to do is fly."

He stared at her a moment as if gauging the truthfulness of her answer, then nodded. "Can't fault you for that." He paused, a small smile erasing the last traces of his anger. "You ready to go flying today, Cadet?"

"Yes, sir!" Audrey couldn't help her enthusiasm. She'd been waiting her entire life for this day.

He nodded. "Good. Then I'll see you at the preflight."

"I'll be there, sir." Not wanting to risk what felt like a reasonable truce, Audrey turned to go. She felt Lieutenant Penn's eyes on her back as she crossed his quarters and stepped through the hatch, closing it behind her. 

After it clanged shut, she leaned against the wall and breathed a huge sigh.

#

"How're you doing back there, Cadet?" Lieutenant Penn asked, his voice crackling and tinny through the speaker in Audrey's helmet.

"I'm good, sir," she answered, keeping her composure with an effort. Ever since the first rush as the catapult had slammed them into their seats and hurled them off the edge of the carrier, she'd been biting the inside of her lip to keep from laughing aloud in pure exultation. Flying in a Hornet was everything she'd hoped, and she wasn't sure if she'd ever felt completely, totally _alive_ before this moment. Outside the canopy, she could see the hazy expanse of blue sky extending above her like a huge dome, its color thinned by altitude. Below, the ocean seemed an impossibly dark blue with wisps of cloud floating above its glassy surface.

Ahead and to her left, Audrey could see the other F/A-18, with Brent McClellan in the back seat. The pilot's call sign was Elvis. Lieutenant Penn's was Hotshot, which he apparently lived up to if the scores on the greenie board were any indication.

"Greyhound, this is Guardian Lead." Audrey heard her father's calm voice in her ear. "Things look clear, so we're going to drop back a little to give you kids some room to play."

"Roger that, Guardian," Elvis answered. "Hotshot, you ready to show these up-and-coming young aviators what flying really is?"

In the seat in front of Audrey, Penn chuckled. "Ready when you are, Elvis." 

Audrey sucked in her breath, tasting the sour, plastic smell from her oxygen mask. She counted to five before Penn threw the fighter into the first of a series of maneuvers that sent her heart climbing into her throat and made the blood pound in her head. Ocean and sky whirled around her, dizzying and wonderful. Laughter bubbled out of her despite her best efforts to keep it contained. To her surprise, Penn laughed with her.

They leveled out around ten thousand feet according to the instruments in front of Audrey. Her headset crackled as Elvis came on the line.

"Let's head back up to Angels twenty-five," he told his wingman, "and let the middies take a turn."

"Roger," Penn answered.

Audrey felt herself being pushed back into her seat by the mild g-forces as Hotshot brought the nose up. 

A tremendous crash shuddered through the aircraft. The forward windscreen shattered, leaving a gaping hole just above the top of the control panel surrounded by spidery lines. Audrey screamed as something dark and amorphous splashed across her. Instinctively, she raised a hand to wipe her faceplate. Her glove came away stained with dark liquid. Bits of white fluff whipped through the air around her as the plane slowly rolled right and headed into a spiraling dive. Over the shoulder of the forward seat, she caught a glimpse of Lieutenant Penn's helmet, flopping limply from the motion.

"Greyhound 2, this is Greyhound 1, do you copy? Hotshot, you there?" Elvis's voice was full of alarm. 

"Something hit us. I think he's unconscious," Audrey answered numbly, her voice trembling. _Or dead_, she added, but didn't say it aloud.

Around her, ocean and sky turned into a confusing kaleidoscope. She stared at the hole in the windscreen in horror.

"Control, this is Guardian. Greyhound 2 has gone into an uncontrolled dive." Her father's voice, tight with emotion, snapped her out of her terror.

"Dad!" she cried into the microphone, grabbing for the unexpected security his voice offered. "Dad, help me! What do I do?"

"Hotshot's not responding," she heard Elvis report.

"Grab the stick," her father commanded in that same taut tone. "Put the sky above you, the ocean under you, then pull up."

Audrey stared at the control stick by her right hand. Outside the cockpit, she knew, the ocean rushed toward her. It would be no softer than the ground if she slammed into it at three hundred knots. 

__

I don't want to die! Convulsively she wrapped her hand around the gray-green handle. 

"_How?_" Sky and water continued to spin lazily by, alternating light and dark.

"Don't worry about how, Audrey. You were born to fly. Just make it happen." Her father's voice filled her ears, her mind. "Ocean under you, sky above you, and pull up."

Audrey twitched her wrist and felt the stick move. The airplane slewed under her, responding to the command. The stick's motion had a spongy feel to it—not difficult, but resistant, as if it were spring loaded. The whirl of sky and sea slowed, and Audrey concentrated every fiber of her being on making the sky go back to where it belonged—filling the canopy over her head.

"Pull up, Audrey! Pull up!"

Heart clutching inside her, Audrey yanked back on the stick. The dark swath of water rushing up at her suddenly disappeared. With a cry that was half triumph, half sob, she was shoved roughly down into her seat as the F/A-18 pulled out of its dive and began to climb.

#

Harm hardly dared to breathe as Audrey's aircraft bottomed out, wings wobbling, then began a curving climb.

"She's losing airspeed," Skates commented from the backseat. "Down to about one hundred eighty knots."

"Audrey, add power," Harm instructed, hoping he sounded a lot more steady than he felt. "Watch your airspeed indicator. You want to maintain two-two-zero knots."

"O.k." Audrey answered. She sounded rough, but Harm had to believe she could handle the aircraft. "Adding power." 

"Airspeed's starting to climb," Skates reported over the cockpit mike.

"Audrey, when you reach ten thousand feet, I want you to level out," Harm told his daughter. "Watch your turn and bank indicator to keep your wings level. You're looking great so far."

"Got it—uh, roger that, sir," she answered and Harm couldn't help his smile.

"Good girl."

Harm turned his attention to his wingman. "Guardian 2, this is Guardian Lead. Let's close up and take a look at the damage, Boomer."

"Roger that," his wingman acknowledged. They closed with the damaged F/A-18 as it nosed over into something approximating level flight. Harm matched his daughter's shallow climb, noting that his airspeed indicator now said 223 knots. For someone who'd never been at the controls of an aircraft before, she was doing an incredible job.

"Commander, this is Captain Ingles. What is Lieutenant Penn and Cadet Le's situation?" Harm wasn't surprised to hear the captain's voice over his radio.

"We're taking a look now, sir." As he spoke, he maneuvered closer to the injured Hornet. What he saw made him suck in his breath. Skates let out a low whistle.

"Looks like bird strike, sir," Skates said after a moment's silence.

"At ten thousand feet?" Harm had to agree that the mangled hole in the front windscreen did, indeed, look like a bird strike. But what kind of bird was big enough to punch that kind of hole _through_ a fighter's windscreen? An eagle or a pelican, maybe? But what would one of those be doing at Angels Ten?

Harm pushed his thoughts onto more immediate questions. "Hotshot's definitely unconscious," he reported. "Looks like his helmet might be cracked."

An ominous silence followed his words. Then Captain Ingles came back on the radio.

"All right, Commander. I'm launching the SAR helicopter now. Find them a good place to punch out and lets get them recovered as quickly as possible."

"Aye, sir." Harm's heart clenched at the thought, but he knew it was the safest course.

Harm switched over to talk to his daughter. "Audrey, here's the plan. You're going to follow me back toward the carrier group. When we get close, I'll talk you through the ejection sequence. There's a SAR helo standing by that will pick you two up pretty much as soon as you hit the water."

There was a short pause as Audrey absorbed that. "Aye, sir," she finally said. Harm could tell from her voice how frightening she found the idea. Well, he could certainly understand that.

"It'll be all right," he told her softly. 

She gave a strained chuckle. "Just think of the story I'm going to have to tell when I get back to the Academy."

Harm laughed with her until Skates voice came over the cockpit mike. "Sir, Boomer's requesting that we switch frequencies. It sounds like he wants to have a private chat."

Harm's stomach knotted in trepidation as he acknowledged the request.

"What's up, Boomer?" he asked the pilot whose F-14 had taken up station on Audrey's far side.

"I think we may have a problem," the lieutenant began, and the knot in Harm's gut tightened another notch. "I don't think you can see the extent of the damage from over there, but whatever hit them really ripped into the top of Hotshot's control panel. It's all mangled, and so is the canopy frame." Boomer's voice dropped a notch. "I'm not sure the canopy can be jettisoned."

Harm closed his eyes, just for a moment, to gather himself. "Copy, Boomer," he told the other pilot once he had regained control. He switched frequencies again to call the _Patrick Henry_.

"Ingles here."

"Captain, we may have a problem." He explained Boomer's concerns, concluding with, "I'm going to have her jettison the canopy first, just to be sure."

He could imagine the captain's long, craggy face and solemn expression. "Keep me appraised, Commander."

"Aye, sir."

"Harm, what are you going to do if they can't eject?" Skates asked from the backseat, deep concern etched into her voice.

Harm pressed his lips together. "Let's not worry about that unless it happens, o.k.?"

"Yes, sir."

Harm switched back to the communication frequency the fighters were using. "Greyhound Lead, this is Guardian Lead. Elvis, take Boomer with you and give us a cover sweep. The last thing we need is to get caught unawares out here."

"Roger that," Elvis answered and the two fighters peeled away. Harm watched as they formed up in a neat pair, headed for higher altitudes.

Harm glanced over at his daughter. Her face was invisible behind her dark visor, but memory filled in what his eyes could not. Harm didn't want to acknowledge just how frightened he was for her. He shoved the thought away with determination. He couldn't afford to be scared right now.

"Audrey, I'm going to move ahead of you a little ways. Try to stay at my five o'clock. We need to make about a hundred and thirty degree turn, but we'll do it nice and slow."

"O.k." There was a short pause. "Dad?"

Harm was somewhat distracted as he pulled ahead, maneuvering his aircraft into position. "Yeah, baby?"

"Is Lieutenant Penn dead?"

The calm question jarred Harm more thoroughly than any emotional outburst could have. "I don't know," he finally answered. "But the best thing you can do for him is to get both of you back on the ground as quickly as possible."

She seemed to accept that. When she spoke again, her tone was lighter, almost conversational. "So, how often do fighters run into birds like this?"

Harm glanced in his mirror, catching Skates' amused glance. "At ten thousand feet—never."

"She's inherited your curse, sir," Skates told him.

"What curse would that be, Lieutenant?"

She chuckled. "Things happen when you're around. Why do you think people fight over the chance to fly with you? They know they're almost guaranteed some kind of action."

Harm grinned despite himself. "And here I thought it was my exceptional leadership skills."

Skates laughed. "That's secondary, sir."

Harm met her gaze in the mirror and she winked.

The brief moment of levity faded. Harm refocused on the task before him. "All right, Audrey. When I tell you to, bank left twenty degrees and stay on my tail."

"I'm ready."

"Now." Harm rolled left, sending his Tomcat into a leisurely turn. "How's she doing, Skates?" he asked his RIO privately.

Skates stared out the canopy at the aircraft trailing them. "She's staying with us."

They completed the turn and resumed level flight on a heading that would return them to the carrier group.

"Nice job," he told Audrey as she rolled wings level, only overshooting by a few degrees. For a qualified pilot it would have been inexcusably sloppy flying, but that hardly mattered here. 

They cruised toward the carrier. Elvis and Boomer rejoined them after completing their sweep, once again reporting no contacts. With Elvis' input on the differences between the Hornet and the Tomcat, Harm familiarized Audrey with the various ejection controls and walked her through the sequences she would need to use to first jettison the canopy and then eject herself and Lieutenant Penn.

"You ready?" he asked her once the carrier came into view. The SAR helo stood off the _Henry_'s port side, pacing the carrier as it waited.

"As ready as I'm going to get," Audrey answered, sounding calm save for the tiny tremor that ran through the words.

"Then lets do it." Harm tried to inject as much confidence as he could. From his position in the lead he couldn't see Audrey's Hornet, which was both a good thing and an unbearable agony. "Give us a countdown, Audrey."

"O.k." There was a short silence, then a gusty sigh. "Well, here goes nothing. Three... two... one... now."

Harm imagined he could hear the gunshot-like reports of the explosive bolts firing, and the sudden roar as the canopy separated from the fuselage. Having been through the process three times, the sounds were etched into his memory.

A sharp gasp from Skates shook Harm to his core.

"Something's wrong! The canopy's hung up!" Elvis's voice rang in Harm's ear. His heart froze. The damage from the birdstrike must have caused some structural entanglement and prevented a clean jettison. Harm could imagine the heavy, curved piece of plexiglas flying upward, hinged at the damage point, before being caught by the slipstream rushing past the fighter.

"There it goes! It broke loose," Elvis continued. "Hoo, did you see that, Boom? It almost clipped the vertical tails!" 

Harm gripped the controls of his Tomcat so tight his hand began to ache. "Audrey? Audrey, answer me! Are you all right?"

The moment of silence before she answered was perhaps the longest in his life.

"Yeah, Dad. I'm o.k. It didn't hit us." She sounded badly shaken.

Harm made a snap decision and keyed his mike once again. "Boomer, trade places with me. Audrey, I'm going to drop back along side you to take a look. You just hold this heading and maintain your speed. Let us do all the maneuvering, o.k.?"

"O.k." she answered. 

Harm pulled away as Boomer slipped in front of him, maneuvering his aircraft into position next to Audrey's. The canopy was gone. The Hornet appeared undamaged save for a large dent in the pilot's control panel and a portion of the canopy track that had been ripped up from the edge of the fuselage. The twisted shank of metal protruded into the forward cockpit, narrowly missing Lieutenant Penn's shoulder. 

Harm stared at the seemingly minor damage as dread filled him.

"Oh, no," Skates breathed from the backseat, echoing his horror. 

"Yeah," he agreed, unable to tear his eyes from the sight. "Hotshot can't eject."


	24. 24

Chapter 24

"What does that mean?" Audrey asked after her father told her about the damage to her Hornet. She couldn't think. The image of the huge piece of plexiglas and metal whipping past her head crowded her mind, chasing away coherent thought. 

She could see the twisted piece of metal rail her father had referred to over the shoulder of the seat in front of her. It vibrated from the force of the air rushing past, throwing off tiny sparks of sunlight.

"It means Lieutenant Penn can't eject. He'd be ripped to shreds." Her father paused. "But you still can."

Her overwhelming relief lasted only as long as it took for her to realize the implications. "But then the lieutenant would die," she protested. 

"Yes."

Her next breath was a sob. "This can't be happening," she murmured to herself as tears filled her eyes. "It can't be."

"_Cadet Le, you'd better stow that right now! That's an order!_" Her father's voice, ice cold with anger, made her flinch. She immediately clamped down on the sobs that climbed her throat, seeking release. Three years at the Naval Academy had ingrained obedience to a superior officer in her— and a lifetime of hiding her feelings had given her the self-control with which to do so.

"Yes, sir!" she managed, blinking furiously to clear her eyes.

"Breathe, Audrey." This time her father's voice was gentler, though still underlain with steel. "No matter what, you have _got_ to keep it together up here. Save the hysterics for when you're back on the ground."

Stung by his implication, Audrey straightened unconsciously. "With all due respect, _sir_," she grated, "when I'm back on the ground there won't really be any point to getting hysterical, now will there?"

He surprised her by chuckling. "Much better."

Audrey bit her lip, her cheeks warming. "You did that on purpose."

"And it worked like a charm." She could imagine his smug grin.

Audrey took a deep breath as the tight band of fear around her chest loosened its grip. "I'm o.k. now."

"Good." The humor left his voice. "Because we have a really tough decision to make."

Unwillingly, her eyes went to the small crescent of Hotshot's helmet visible over the shoulder of his seat. "What are my choices?"

Audrey could hear the pain in her father's voice as he listed them off for her. "One, you can eject—"

"And let Lieutenant Penn die," she injected, surprised at how calmly she could say that.

"Yes. His chances of survival are about the same whether you eject his seat or not. It's the safest option for you, however." He paused, then went on. "Two, you can attempt a landing on the carrier, which has the possibility of killing both of you."

"Isn't there an airstrip somewhere that I could go to? Someplace easier to land than the carrier?"

"You don't have enough fuel to make landfall at this point, so to do that would require aerial refueling. And, if there's anything more difficult—or dangerous—than trapping, it's coupling with a refueling tanker."

"Cadet Le." A new voice intruded on the conversation. "This is Captain Ingles. We've been monitoring the situation down here. Commander, I want a visual inspection and your best assessment of Lieutenant Penn's condition."

Audrey sucked in the plastic-tasting air from her mask as her father answered, "Roger that, sir."

She looked over at her father's F-14, which cruised alongside. She could clearly see both he and Skates, their faces hidden behind their masks. Her father turned his head to look at her through the canopy. 

"Straight and level, Audrey. I'm going to close with you to take a closer look."

"Aye, sir." She forced herself to watch her instruments instead of the large gray fighter that slipped frighteningly close to her own. She felt like any twitch of her wrist would send them careening into each other.

__

Steady. Steady. She chanted the word to herself like a mantra.

"What do you think, Skates?" her father's voice came over the radio a moment later. "I see blood stains, but his flight suit doesn't seem to have been compromised."

"The blood could be from the bird, sir," Skates answered, sounding thoughtful. "I agree. His flight suit looks intact, but there's definitely a crack in the helmet."

"All right. I'm pulling back." Audrey breathed a soft sigh of relief at that. "Captain," her father reported, "there's a good chance Lieutenant Penn is still alive."

"Very well, Commander," the captain answered. "Cadet Le?"

Audrey swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. "Yes, sir."

"What do you want to do?"

Audrey needed two deep breaths before she could answer. "Sir, if you'll let me, I'd like to try to land." Just saying the words frightened her. She'd seen film of fighters crashing onto the decks of their carriers in her History of Naval Aviation class. To her horror, when she'd gone back and done some research, she'd discovered that one of those crashes had been her father's. The Tomcat had struck the deck nose first, cartwheeling in a brilliant ball of fire.

"You do realize that's a lot easier said than done?" Captain Ingles asked in a deceptively mild voice.

Audrey bit her lip, tasting blood. "Yes, sir, I know. But I have to try."

There was a short pause. "You're a credit to the uniform, Cadet. Good luck."

"Thank you, sir."

His gruff voice didn't change. "You're going to need it. Commander, I want the rest of you on the deck before she tries anything."

Audrey could hear the protest in her father's voice. "Captain, I'd like to stay airborne with the cadet until she traps."

"Permission denied."

"Sir—"

"How much fuel do you have, Commander?" Ingles demanded, and Audrey had the distinct sense that there was an entire conversation taking place in what wasn't said, rather than what was.

"If there's a tanker—"

"There isn't, Commander." The captain's voice softened. "I understand your reasons, but the answer is no. You can talk her down from the deck just as well as from the air and I do _not_ want you dumping another one of my birds in the drink. Is that clear?"

"Aye, sir." Audrey could hear a note of defiance in his voice as he bit the words out.

Apparently, Captain Ingles could as well. His voice turned harsh. "Commander, don't even think of defying me on this one. You will put your Tomcat on this deck when I tell you to, or I'll have both your stripes _and_ your wings! Understood?"

Audrey sucked in her breath, but couldn't help a small smile. _I come by it honestly, at least._

"Aye, sir." This time, she heard resignation in his tone and knew he would do as the captain instructed. In some ways she was glad, but that also meant she would be left all alone up here, which scared her more than she wanted to admit.

#

Mac stood silently on the bridge, listening as Harm argued with the captain of the _Patrick Henry_. She, too, heard the acquiescence in her partner's voice and breathed a soft sigh of relief. He wouldn't be punching out today. 

Oddly enough, Captain Ingles wore a similarly relieved expression. He glanced over at her for a moment, catching her eye. "He's coming down." The captain sounded like he wanted to reassure her.

Mac nodded. "I know."

Ingles turned back to the monitors that showed the beehive of activity taking place on the deck. "Just so you understand, Colonel, the chances of the cadet making a successful trap are slim." 

Mac stared at him. "Then why are you letting her make the attempt? If the choice is losing one of them or both—?"

Ingles scowled. "The choice is whether to order her to sacrifice a fellow serviceman's life, or to allow her to risk her own life to save his." He sighed softly. "The burden of the decision is on her. I wouldn't have stopped her if she'd decided to eject... but I have to respect the cadet's choice."

"What about the burden Commander Rabb will have to live with?" Mac asked sharply, her stomach curling into tighter and tighter knots. If Harm had to watch his daughter die in a ramp strike...

Ingles rocked back on his heels, eyes never leaving the overhead monitors. "You'll notice he hasn't tried to talk her out of it either, Colonel." He shot Mac a significant glance before turning back to the monitors. "Chances are this is going to be a very difficult day for the commander. It's... good you're here for him."

Mac didn't react visibly to the statement. Everyone seemed to understand her relationship with Harm better than either of the participants did. 

She squared her shoulders and forced her voice to display none of the fears that haunted her. "Captain, I've got a hundred bucks that says she traps on the first pass." Mac didn't look over at Ingles, but felt his surprised gaze. 

He barked a laugh. "I'm not a betting man, Colonel, but I admire your pluck."

"This is Harm's daughter, sir." Mac stared out at the sky. "If anyone can pull it off, she can."

Ingles turned fully to face her. "Let's hope you're right, Colonel."

#

Harm felt like he was trapped in a nightmare. Only his long years of training allowed him to keep his hands steady and his eyes focused as he paced his daughter's fighter through the pattern that would bring her in line with the runway.

"Got it, baby?" he asked as they pulled out of the turn on the proper heading, about fifteen miles from the carrier. 

"Got it, Dad," she answered, sounding as calm as any seasoned aviator. "Now I start a descent to four hundred feet and look for the ball."

"That's right. What else?"

He could imagine her chewing on her lip the way she did when she was thinking. "Let's see... landing gear and tail hook are already down, so I just have to add flaps and adjust power so I keep the doughnut visible on my HUD." The doughnut refers to the Angle of Attack Indexer, a small display on the left side of the HUD that lets the pilot know if he is onspeed and at a correct angle of attack for approach.

"Right. Let me know when you've spotted the ball." Harm switched frequencies. "Control, this is Tomcat two-zero-six requesting permission to do a flyby."

"Permission granted," came the Air Boss's response. "But this is the last one, Tomcat. After this, practice is over."

"Understood," Harm answered, his gut clenching. "Tomcat two-zero-six out."

"O.k., I can see the ball," Audrey announced. 

"And?" Harm had been watching the IFLOLS (Improved Fresnel Lens Optical Landing System) "meatball" as soon as it became visible at about the five mile mark.

"And... I'm high. No green lights, just amber. Should I correct?"

"No. High's better than low, and as long as you can still see the ball, you're o.k." He took a deep breath. "Now what do you do?"

"Um... whatever the LSO tells me to?"

Harm managed a weak smile. "Yes, but assuming he doesn't wave you off, what's next?"

Audrey didn't sound quite as certain now, but this was the part they couldn't practice. "I fly down the glideslope until the gear touch down."

"And the moment you feel your landing gear hit the deck?"

"Full power."

"Why?"

"Because if I don't catch the wire I'm going to have to bolter and come around again for another try." She sounded like the idea alone terrified her, which, Harm conceded, it probably did.

As they talked, they overflew the deck of the _Patrick Henry_ and started climbing again as they'd done on each of the previous passes.

"Dad?" For a moment, Audrey's voice lost its calm control. 

Harm's heart did a savage flip-flop. "Yeah, baby?"

"I'm scared."

Harm bit his lip until he tasted blood. He wanted to tell her that he was, too. But that wasn't what would help her now.

"You're a heck of a natural pilot, Audrey. If anyone can do this, I believe it's you."

"And if I can't?"

Harm stared at his instruments. "Promise me something."

"...O.k."

"If the LSO tells you to eject, promise me you'll do it."

There was a short silence. "O.k. Dad. I promise."

And that, Harm figured, was the only reassurance he would get. "I love you, Audrey."

"I love you, too, Dad. I'm—" Her voice caught. "I'm glad I got a chance to know you."

Harm closed his eyes briefly, fighting the pain that squeezed his chest, robbing him of breath. "Me, too, baby. Me, too." He forced himself to open his eyes. It was time for him to change course to initiate his own approach. 

"Are you ready to do this?" he asked her.

He heard her sigh. "As ready as I can be, anyway. Wish me luck?"

Harm didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that. Unfortunately, he couldn't do either. "Good luck, baby. I'm proud of you." He paused, striving for as much nonchalance as he could muster. "I'll catch you at debriefing."

He was rewarded by the sound of her laughter. "I'll be there."

With that, Harm banked his aircraft into a tight turn, heading for his own rendezvous with the _Patrick Henry_.

#

For the rest of his life, Harm would never remember landing his Tomcat and taxiing off the runway to the designated spot, or popping the canopy so he could better see Audrey's F/A-18 as it approached the carrier. The terse conversation between Audrey and the LSO faded to a buzz inside his head, where a different voice, a different LSO, was yelling at him to wave off, and Mace screamed over and over again, "Eject! Eject!"

Harm snapped back to himself when he heard Audrey call the ball at three-quarters of a mile. He gripped the edge of the cockpit in both hands, feeling the metal lip bite into his palms. To his surprise, he found Skates sitting on the edge of the rear cockpit, a hand gripping his shoulder as she, too, watched the descending aircraft.

"You're a little high, Cadet, but looking good," the LSO reported through Harm's headset.

"The ground's coming up awfully fast—" Harm could hear the stark terror in Audrey's voice. "Too fast! I'm reducing power—"

"Negative! Negative!" The LSO called. "Maintain speed— Add power! Add power! You're too low!"

Harm couldn't breathe as the fighter dipped dangerously close to the fantail, wallowing as it struggled to stay aloft. He heard the whine of the engines spooling, his entire body rigid with terror that the next sound he would hear would be the metallic crunch of the aircraft striking the deck. 

Riding on the mild ocean swells, the carrier dipped at the last moment. The Hornet slipped across the edge of the deck, flopping onto the asphalt in a screech of tires and a cloud of gray rubber smoke. Harm choked back a cry of utter relief as the roar of jet engines at full power vibrated around him. Audrey's aircraft strained forward, tail hook securely caught on the two-wire.

"She did it, sir! She did it!" Skates wrapped both arms around Harm's neck in an exuberant hug, knocking him over and nearly falling into the cockpit with him in the process.

In a mixture of laughter and tears, Harm hugged her back. Then he helped her out of his lap and onto the ladder that had been rolled up to the fighter's side. 

Shaking, he climbed down behind Skates. His knees nearly buckled when his feet hit the ground, so he kept hold of the ladder for a few extra seconds until his legs solidified. Pulling off his helmet, he took off at an uneven jog toward the damaged Hornet sitting in the middle of the carrier deck.

People were swarming around the aircraft by the time Harm reached it. The plane captain was up on a ladder next to Audrey, helping her with the shutdown sequence. Medical personnel worked to remove Lieutenant Penn from the cockpit and transfer him to a stretcher. 

Harm hung back, his gaze fastened hungrily on his daughter. She had her helmet off. Her face was pale and sweat streaked, but she flashed a heartstopping smile at the plane captain in response to something he said. 

Audrey's gaze strayed to the forward cockpit as the corpsmen pulled Lieutenant Penn from his seat and carefully handed him down to the ground. He was quickly checked over, and then the group rushed away, headed toward sickbay. Audrey followed them with her eyes. After they disappeared into the interior of the ship, she turned back toward the flight line and their eyes met.

Harm was totally unprepared for the unfiltered rage that swelled up inside him. For an instant, he wanted to grab Audrey in a crushing grip and shake her, refusing to let go until she promised to never set foot in a Navy fighter again. The violence of his reaction stunned him into immobility. He breathed in short, heavy gasps as Audrey climbed down from the Hornet's rear cockpit and slowly approached him. 

Her initial smile faded as she drew closer. 

"Dad?"

The uncertainty in her voice shattered his senseless anger. Harm crossed the last few feet separating them and swept his daughter up in a fierce hug.

"Audrey." His eyes stung with tears that had little to do with the acrid haze of burnt rubber and jet exhaust lingering in the air. 

As people converged on them—the LSO, pilots and plane handlers—Harm fought down his emotions and let the fighter jock persona slide back into place. He pulled back from his daughter's embrace, grinning.

"Not bad for your first landing."

Through the tears that left tracks on her smudged cheeks, she rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks, Dad." But her smile was brilliant.

After that they had no more chance to talk as people crowded around, slapping Audrey on the back, shaking her hand, or simply yelling out encouragement. Harm kept one arm securely fastened around her shoulders, slowly guiding them through the press as she tried to respond to the overwhelming show of support. They reached the hatch, and Harm paused.

"Where to?" he asked Audrey in an undertone. "We're in for the debriefing from Hell, but the CAG's got to find us first."

She looked up into his eyes. "I want to see how Lieutenant Penn is doing," she answered, which didn't surprise her father one bit. He yanked on the hatch, pulling it open.

"After you."

She ducked through with a smile. Harm followed more slowly, offering up a silent prayer of gratitude that he had been given a chance to know this amazing woman who was his daughter.


	25. 25

Chapter 25

"How'd you know where to find me?" Harm asked as he heard the hatch open behind him. It had become a joke, that question. He stood on Vulture Row, elbows resting on the railing as he watched fighters roar off into the night, their afterburners glowing like hot red eyes against the darkness.

Mac chuckled as she came up beside him. She mirrored his posture, staring off into the distance as the constant twenty-knot breeze ruffled her hair. After a moment she glanced at him, a warm, concerned expression.

"How are you doing?"

The simple question shattered what little peace Harm had managed to find. He hung his head, closing his eyes. A taut band wrapped itself around his chest, making every breath an effort as all the emotions of the past fifteen or so hours came rushing back.

Mac laid a hand on his back, her fingers warm and comforting through the fabric of his uniform.

"I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life," he admitted after what felt like an eternity of trying to force his mouth to form the words. "I thought I was going to have to watch Audrey die, and there was absolutely nothing I could do." His hands closed into fists. 

Mac rubbed her palm across his back in slow circles. The gesture was evidence of a new kind of intimacy between them, a physical acknowledgement of the friendship that had always bound their lives together. A friendship they no longer imposed any limits on.

"Why didn't you try to convince her to eject?" Mac asked softly. 

Harm shook his head against the pain that question generated. "I couldn't," he finally told her. "I wanted to—" Everything in him had screamed at Audrey to eject, to save her life because he loved her too much to lose her. But the image of a blue sedan pulling up in front of the house belonging to Lieutenant Penn's parents, with two men in uniform there to tell them their son was dead, simply wouldn't let him. 

Harm squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. "She made the right choice, and I—I couldn't belittle her courage that way."

Mac made a soft, indecipherable sound as she withdrew her hand. "She's just like you." 

Harm raised his head to look at her. "Just like me?"

Mac smiled. "Yeah. Someone who constantly gets into trouble, who refuses to do less than the honorable thing, no matter how dangerous, and who somehow manages to cheat death time and time again."

Harm stared at her. When laid out like that, his life sounded downright scary. Why would anyone volunteer to love someone whose life took so many dangerous turns?

"Is that how you see me, Mac?"

Her smile faded. "It's how you _are_." She looked away as a fighter shot off the bow, engines alight. "The truth is, the qualities that drive you to do those crazy things are some of the things I admire most about you." She glanced back at him, almost shy as she tried to gauge his reaction. "But now you have an inkling of how it feels to be on my end of the deal."

Their eyes met, silent understanding arcing between them. Having tasted that fear, Harm could suddenly see so clearly the emotions that drove Mac's hatred of fighters—and, more specifically, his own role as a pilot. Was that really how she felt whenever he flew? Why she always seemed so distant whenever he returned from a sortie, from quals, from anything that involved him in the air with a Tomcat? Was that why his return to flying full-time had nearly destroyed their relationship?

Harm looked away. He threaded his fingers together as a tremor ran through him. 

"Mac?"

"Yes?"

He forced his hands to unclench. "What's the real reason changing my designator hurt you so much?"

He heard her sharp intake of breath, but didn't dare look over at her. 

"What did you think was the reason?" she asked after a moment.

Harm shrugged. "I thought you were mad at me for leaving JAG to go chase yet another obsession. In your eyes it probably seemed like I was choosing what was most valuable to me—your friendship or flying—and I chose to fly."

"Was that really what you were doing?" The question held no accusation and little curiosity.

He shook his head, strangely unable to take offense. "No, of course not." Harm had the feeling he was finally verbalizing things they'd both known for a while. "I never expected to spend more than a couple of years out there. It was something I had to do—something I had to settle in my own mind once and for all—and I just assumed you would see it the same way I did."

Mac eyed him for a long moment. "And now what do you think is the reason?" This time the question held keen interest.

Drawing himself up, Harm turned slowly to face her. Mac watched him intently, her dark eyes shielded, her stance tense.

He bit his lip. "Now, I'm struggling with the idea that even way back then you cared deeply for me—" He made an aimless gesture that encompassed their entire conversation. "And I let you live with this kind of fear for the sake of my dream."

The guarded expression in her eyes didn't change, but her posture softened. She licked her lips, her gaze darting away from his as she thought. One slender hand reached up to brush away an errant hair, tucking it behind her ear.

Eventually, she sighed. "Although both of those are part of the reason I was so hurt when you left, neither one is the _real_ reason," she told him.

Harm gripped the rail beside. "Then what was it?"

Her dark eyes jumped to his, full of pain. She shrugged. "You left."

He stared at her in confusion. 

Mac's expression firmed. "It was never so much about the reasons, Harm. I had just about convinced myself that, for the first time, I had someone in my life who would never abandon me." She stared helplessly at him, a shine of tears in her eyes. "But you left."

A sharp lance of dismay stabbed him through the heart. "I never left _you_, Mac."

"Yes you did," she protested. "You went away. Physically... went... someplace else." She fluttered her hands aimlessly, distress written into her features.

Disturbed, Harm captured her hands and held them tightly in his. "I'm sorry, Mac. I had no idea it bothered you this much."

She paused, seeming to draw strength either from the apology or from the warm contact between them. She pressed her lips together, then offered a weak smile. "Well, to your credit, you also came back, which no one in my life had ever done, either." 

Withdrawing her hands, she sighed. "I was really confused for a while after you returned to JAG."

Harm nodded. "You and me both."

They stared wordlessly at each other, the silence steeped in painful memories. 

"I'm sorry, too," Mac said abruptly.

Harm blinked in surprise. After all, he was the one who had—albeit ignorantly—violated the most important trust this woman had ever given to anyone.

"What for?" he finally asked.

She raised both eyebrows, flashing him a bittersweet smile. "Oh, for pretty much everything after 'Is that a request?'." 

Harm nearly choked at her bluntness. The ferry ride could have happened yesterday, it remained so clear in his mind. They had both made so many mistakes, but somehow they'd still managed to get _here_, which was a whole lot closer to eternity than either of them had any real right to expect. 

The thought brought a smile to his face. He reached out to place a hand over hers where it rested on the railing, then turned to watch the busy deck. 

"Do you think we'll ever get to the point that we don't owe each other any more apologies?" he asked.

She flexed her hand, fingers brushing lightly against his. The touch was simple yet deeply intimate.

"For past mistakes... yes, I think we'll get there." She stared into the limitless darkness surrounding the ship, her mouth firm with resolve. 

Harm lifted her hand to his lips, gently kissing her knuckles. "Me, too."

Mac's expression turned whimsical. She tossed her head, letting the breeze catch her hair. "What do you think that day will be like?"

Harm kept hold of her hand a moment longer before releasing it. "Oh, I don't know, but I suspect it'll involve you in a white dress and most of our friends decked out with ceremonial swords."

Mac gave him one shocked look before hiding her surprise behind a sly smile. "If any of those friends smacks me on the butt with their sword and yells 'Go Navy', there will be retribution, squid, you mark my words."

Harm laughed outright. "Yes, ma'am." He leaned over, resting his elbows on the railing once again. Mac mirrored him. They stood there, shoulders brushing, as they contemplated the night. For Harm it was an unexpected refuge from the exhausting tumult of the past day, a short moment of peace that came from knowing that the truest desire of his heart was not nearly so unattainable as it had once seemed.

Unfortunately, he didn't know if that would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay tonight.

"So, have you called your mom yet?" Mac asked.

The question dragged him away from the downward spiral of his thoughts, but only served to send him onto a different downhill track. "No." He sighed. "I guess I probably should. There's no telling how mangled the story'll get once the media gets hold of it."

"She still doesn't want to talk about Audrey?"

He shook his head. "I wish I understood that. It's like she doesn't want to acknowledge that Audrey exists, but heck if I can figure out why."

"Denial."

Harm gave her a fisheye stare. "Yeah, but over what? My going to Vietnam? I can't imagine she'd be that upset over—well..." He trailed off, embarrassed.

"Her son being sexually active at sixteen?" Mac gave him an amused glance.

He looked away ruefully. 

"I've got you beat there, you know."

Harm turned to look at her. She faced outward, but watched him out of the corner of her eye. 

"Are we trading 'first time' stories now?" He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know. He already knew more than he really wanted to about her sexual past. For all that it was important for him to understand those encounters to understand how they had shaped her life and character, it still made him uncomfortable. Jealous, maybe? He snorted to himself. Oh yeah.

"Was she your first?" Mac asked, bringing him back to the present. "Audrey's mother, I mean?"

He stared down at his hands, then nodded. "She was."

Mac didn't say anything.

"Does that bother you?" he finally asked. If her past lovers bothered him, it stood to reason that the reverse might be true as well.

Mac toyed with her Marine Corps ring. "Maybe a little, I guess." Her voice held a stiff, flat note.

"Why?"

The nervous fingers stilled. "Can we talk about this another time?" She didn't look at him.

Harm bit his lip, his heart sinking in his chest. It obviously wasn't a question. For certain, they'd come a long way in the past year, but it was apparent they still had a ways to go.

"Yeah," he finally agreed. "We can talk about it later." Uncomfortable, he turned to go. "I'm going to go check on Lieutenant Penn. I'll see you in the morning."

Mac nodded, her expression distant. "Good night." She called over her shoulder as he walked to the hatch and opened it.

"'Night, Mac." Pausing just for a second, he stepped through.

#

His feet took him to sickbay without conscious thought. A very young lieutenant looked up as he stepped into the bay. She stood by Penn's beside, checking his vitals. On the bed behind her, Audrey lay curled up on her side, sleeping soundly with both hands tucked beneath her cheek like a little girl. Someone had given her a fresh flight suit to wear, and the gold-on-leather emblem of an aviator's wings glinted softly as she breathed.

Lieutenant Penn turned at the sound of Harm's entrance. The aviator had a row of stitches near his hairline, surrounded by purple-black bruising. But otherwise he seemed fairly healthy.

"Commander." Penn started to straighten in the bed, but Harm waved him down.

"How are you feeling?" Harm asked.

Penn cracked a smile. "Other than the hangover, sir, pretty good."

Harm chuckled, more because it was polite than because he really felt like laughing.

The nurse finished what she was doing, nodded respectfully to Harm, then left.

"I guess you must be pretty proud of your little girl."

Harm realized his gaze had drifted to Audrey and jerked it back. This time his smile was small but genuine. "Yes, I am."

Penn leaned his head back, a smile tickling his lips. "I've got a baby girl at home. She's almost eighteen months old now." He shook his head gingerly. "I can't even imagine her as an adult, let alone standing back and letting her choose to do something as dangerous as what we do."

Harm looked over at his daughter once again. "I doubt I could have stopped her even if I wanted to."

Penn chuckled at his expression. "I believe that, sir. She is something." The admiration was clear in his voice.

Harm decided to switch topics before the conversation got any more personal. "Did they figure out what hit you?"

The lieutenant snorted. "A pelican. They found part of the beak on the floor of the cockpit. The docs think that's what knocked me out." He raised a hand to his forehead. "Twelve stitches and a concussion."

Harm shook his head. "Must have been one lost pelican. I didn't know they could fly as high as Angels Ten."

"The bird people say they can't." The two aviators shared a look for the certainty of the supposed experts. "Guess that shows what they know."

Harm smiled. "Well, I'd better get some rack time while I can. I just wanted to check up on you two."

Penn nodded and let his head fall back on the pillow. He closed his eyes. Harm moved quietly around the bed to his daughter. For a moment, he simply watched her sleep. He'd come so close to losing her today, of being left with only memories. He knew all too well how that felt. But here she was, alive and well, and stronger than she'd been when the day started. Emotionally, Harm didn't quite know what to make of it. He was used to the people he loved dying on him, not surviving. That was his curse. 

Rummaging around, he found a blanket, which he unfolded and carefully laid over Audrey's sleeping form. He stroked her short hair, then bent down to kiss her on the cheek. Somehow, his daughter had convinced him to love again, and even with the knowledge of what he had to lose so fresh in his mind he didn't seem to be able to lock his heart away this time. Not with her, and not with Mac.

Silently, Harm turned away. For sure, he would have nightmares tonight. But maybe they were a small price to pay.


	26. 26

Chapter 26

Harm sat at an empty table in the officer's wardroom, sipping coffee and trying to shed the miasma left from a restless night's dreams. He hadn't known for certain what form the nightmares would take—he'd only known they would come. And they had, casting him back to the board or inquiry for his ramp strike, except that it had been a court martial held in the JAG courthouse and his dead RIO wasn't Mace, it was Audrey. His mother—looking strangely appropriate in Navy whites—had been the prosecuting attorney while Mac and Brumby had been his defense attorneys. Unfortunately, the two had been too busy planning an Australian getaway to pay much attention to his defense.

The conglomeration of his worst fears had woken Harm in a cold sweat and left him momentarily uncertain which was the reality and which the dream. It had only taken a second to orient himself, but that single moment had held an entire life's worth of guilt and shattered hopes, and he was still trying to shake the emotional impact.

"Morning, Harm."

The voice at his shoulder made him jump. He managed to set his coffee down without sloshing it over the rim, and looked up into Beth Hawkes' bright face. Her eyebrows rose.

"Bad night?" she asked as she slid into the seat next to him. Her expression remained light, giving him the option of blowing off her concern without also shutting her out. It was one of the reasons Harm valued her friendship. Skates usually got whatever information she wanted out of him, no matter how personal, but she never made him feel like he'd been cornered.

Harm shrugged. "Yeah, something like that."

Beth regarded him solemnly over the rim of her coffee mug. "You and Mac have a fight?"

Harm snorted and shook his head. "No." Which was true, even if Mac's sudden reticence the night before and the lingering aftermath of his dream made it feel as if they had. Why in the world had she been with Brumby again in his dream? Did it mean that subconsciously he still feared losing her to another man? But why would he? Weren't things, well... progressing... between them? Slowly, maybe, but— 

"Yo, Harm."

He looked up in surprise at Skates. He had no idea how long he'd been lost in his thoughts.

She gave him a concerned, amused smile. "All I can say is, you'd better not fly today, Hammer."

Harm took that as gracefully as he could manage. She was right, he _was_ out of it. The observation did little to brighten his mood, however.

"Gee, thanks," he grumbled, his sarcasm a tad sharper than she deserved.

Beth watched him, a furrow forming between her brows. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Harm eyed her. "Uh oh."

Her lips twitched at that. Harm could only sigh. "Go ahead, Beth."

She glanced down at the tabletop. "I can't speak from personal experience, but I'd bet that almost losing your daughter yesterday has probably hit a little harder than you were expecting."

Harm shrugged. "Maybe." Maybe that was all it was. He pushed his lingering doubts about Mac aside. "I only just met Audrey—we've barely gotten to know each other." He met Beth's sincere gaze as the emotions stirred by his nightmare pushed toward the surface. "I missed out on so much of her life, and to think that these last couple of months could have been all the time we had together..." He looked away. "Yeah, I suppose maybe it is hitting a little harder than I expected."

Beth snorted in an odd mixture of sympathy and derision. "And knowing you, you're probably beating yourself up over every one of those lost years, too."

Caught, Harm looked up sharply. 

Beth gave him a sarky grin. "Uh huh. I don't know why people say you're hard to read."

"You must just be gifted, Lieutenant."

She grinned unrepentantly. "That I am."

Silence fell for a moment while Skates stirred her coffee and Harm stared unseeing at the bustle of the wardroom. 

"So, why the guilt trip?" Beth asked suddenly.

Harm had been asking himself the same question, and the answer seemed pretty simple. "I should have been there... for her and her mother."

"You didn't know, right?"

Harm caught her gaze and held it. "Ignorance is no excuse." That was a basic tenet of the law, one that had been drilled into him as a first-year law student.

Beth just shrugged. "But it is a fact."

Harm sighed, resigned. "I see where you're going, and yes, it's true I didn't know about Audrey and probably couldn't have found out very easily even if I'd been looking. But that doesn't change anything. Just ask Audrey."

The slightly bitter comment drew a concerned look. "You think she resents you?"

Harm made a face as he sipped his lukewarm coffee. "Of course she does, and with good reason." He set his mug back down on the table and pushed it away. "Look, this isn't some sob story, Beth. All things considered, my relationship with Audrey is a whole lot better than I ever expected." He shrugged. "But that doesn't mean it's easy."

"What's not easy?" Mac asked as she walked up to their table, coffee in one hand and a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, sausage and potatoes in the other. When Harm looked up at her, she smiled shyly. "'Morning."

"'Morning, Mac," he responded automatically, wondering why he felt like his guards were slamming shut.

She sensed his mood, too, and her smile faded. "Am I interrupting?" she asked after a moment, glancing between himself and Beth.

When Harm didn't immediately respond, Beth favored him with a swift glare then turned to Mac. "No, ma'am. I was just providing a sounding board." She gathered up her coffee mug. "But now that you're here, I should probably get out of the way. Commander, Colonel." She nodded pleasantly to each of them and left.

In her wake, Harm and Mac stared at each other. 

Trying to break the rocketing tension, Harm glanced at her plate. "Having a light breakfast today, Marine?" He forced a smile.

Mac watched him warily. "This is only the first serving." The joking response didn't match the tone in which it was delivered at all.

Suddenly Harm couldn't take it any more. He straightened abruptly and waved toward the chair Beth had vacated. "Geez, Mac. Sit down. I don't know what's wrong with me today." He pinched the bridge of his nose against a nascent headache.

She did so with the exquisite grace that was so much a part of her. She picked up her fork and proceeded to rearrange the food on her plate in between glances at him.

"So, what were you and Beth talking about?" She was obviously trying to sound nonchalant and, just as obviously, failing.

Needing something to do with his hands, Harm wrapped them around his cool coffee mug. "Audrey."

Her expression didn't change. "That's a broad topic."

Harm quirked his brows, recognizing the intensity hidden behind her forcedly bland stare. "Skates was accusing me of having a guilt complex."

Mac eyed him over a forkful of eggs. "Because you couldn't land that injured fighter for her?"

Harm shook his head. "No, though that's a pretty good guess," he admitted with a rueful shrug. "We were talking about the last twenty-one years rather than yesterday."

"Ah." Mac popped the eggs into her mouth. "Well, at least that's a legitimate reason to feel guilty." She smiled brightly, stabbing her fork at him. "For you that's progress."

Harm snorted. "Gee thanks."

A commotion at the door to the wardroom interrupted him before he could think of something else to say. A crowd of pilots and other crewmen pushed their way into the room, laughing and jostling. Harm noticed that Hotshot was among them even before he spotted his daughter's tall figure at the center of the group. One of the F-18 pilots walked behind her, pushing her along with a hand on either shoulder. It was the kind of friendly roughhousing that the aerial crews were known for, but it surprised Harm to see Audrey caught up in it.

Audrey looked a little uncertain, but was gamely going along. Harm turned his chair around, ostensibly to watch the goings on, but also to free him to leap to his feet if the situation warranted it. Not that he expected it to, but Audrey stirred his protective instincts even more than Mac did. He would be ready for trouble because he couldn't help himself.

Harm relaxed some as Captain Ingles stepped through the door behind the clump of aviators. He had obviously come with them, so whatever was going on had to have his blessing.

Noise in the wardroom died away as the group spread out along one wall with Audrey squarely in the middle. Hotshot and Elvis bracketed her, the latter with an arm slung across her shoulders. Captain Ingles walked toward the center of the room, his gaze flicking across Harm and Mac before he turned to face the group gathered with Audrey.

"Attention!" he snapped.

The officers filling the room surged to their feet, including Harm and Mac.

"At ease," Ingles instructed, allowing the room's occupants to shift to parade rest. Audrey, Harm noticed, was starting to look downright nervous. He didn't blame her, though he suspected this would turn out better than she was expecting.

Ingles glanced over his shoulders. "Commander Rabb, with me."

"Aye, sir," Harm answered, stepping forward. He stopped a pace behind the captain and resumed his stance.

Ingles didn't look at him. "Midshipman Le, front and center."

With a dozen grinning faces behind her, Audrey crossed the short distance separating her from Captain Ingles and came to attention.

Ingles looked around the room. "There is a tradition among naval aviators that says no matter how long you've worn your wings you're not really a pilot until you've made your first trap." A chorus of cheers followed his statement.

Ingles returned his attention to Audrey. "According to tradition, therefore—" Once again his gaze roamed the room, "and at least aboard this ship—she has earned the right to that title—" He paused, raising one hand, which was closed into a loose fist. "And to these." He opened his hand to reveal a gleaming pair of aviator's wings.

The silence following his statement was punctuated by Audrey's soft gasp.

Ingles turned to Harm with a grin. "Commander, I'll let you do the honors."

"Aye, sir," Harm responded automatically, overwhelmed by the opportunity Captain Ingles was offering him. "Thank you." 

Very carefully he took the wings from the captain's hand then stepped in front of his daughter. Her gaze remained fixed straight ahead, her face expressionless, but Harm could feel the excitement emanating from her.

Fingers trembling ever so slightly, Harm pinned Audrey's wings in place, their gold surfaces gleaming brightly against her khaki uniform. "I'm proud of you," he said in a voice cast for her ears alone and saw her swallow hard, her eyes glistening. For a moment she allowed her gaze to meet his, their dark depths fierce with emotion. Harm smiled at her then stepped back, resuming his place behind the captain as the gathered aviators applauded.

"At ease," Ingles told Audrey quietly, then looked over her shoulder. "I believe Lieutenant Penn and the other members of the squadron also have a presentation to make." He stepped back, merging more or less with the audience. Harm followed his example, returning to his place beside Mac as Audrey turned to look at Penn.

The lieutenant accepted a helmet from Elvis before approaching. Recognizing what was coming, Harm crossed his arms and watched the scenario unfold with unabashed curiosity.

"It's also traditional for a pilot's first squadron to give them their call sign." Penn waved a hand at the rest of the squadron. "Which, in this case, means it's up to us." He stopped in front of Audrey, the helmet tucked against his chest with the faceplate toward him. He glanced around the room, grinning. "And, given that Midshipman Le gave up a promising career as a supermodel to fly fighters, we came up with this." With a flourish he turned the helmet around.

Audrey's eyebrows hiked toward her hairline as she took in the broad pink and purple stripes that decorated the front of the helmet with "VENUS" stenciled in white across them. After a moment, however, her face split in a broad grin. She took the helmet from his hands.

"Does this mean I've been promoted to goddess?" she asked, looking around.

Officers burst out laughing, including the captain. 

The unofficial ceremony concluded, people went back to their food and conversations. Audrey was once again absorbed into the ranks of her squadron mates. 

Shaking his head, Harm sat. Mac already had a mouthful of sausage and regarded him intently as she chewed.

"What?" he finally asked, unable to decipher the expression in her eyes.

She swallowed her food, then shrugged, looking away. "Nothing."

"C'mon, Mac..." One thing he knew: _Nothing_ with Mac was anything but.

She sighed, her shoulders sagging. "It's silly." 

"Tell me anyway."

She glanced up at him, then back down at her food. "I just keep thinking that someday that's going to be _my_ child over there... because, let's face it, anyone with Rabb genes is doomed to fly..." She flashed him an oddly bitter look. "And I'm going to hate it."

Harm sat very quietly as he tried to absorb what she'd said. "Because it's dangerous?" he finally asked, his voice as gentle as he could make it and still be heard in the full wardroom.

Mac nodded. "Yes, because it's dangerous." Her fork dangled from her fingertips and she swung it like a pendulum as she spoke. "Don't forget that I've ejected from a fighter that promptly got blown out of the sky. I saw the explosion, and nearly got hit by some of the debris." She met his gaze, her dark eyes defiant. "I'm under no illusions as to how narrow the margin is in this business." 

Her intense stare faltered. She looked down at her plate, busying herself with her food. "To be honest, I don't know how you can still be sane after what happened yesterday. I don't know how your mother survived it with you—twice no less—and I'm... I'm not sure I can be that strong." Mac didn't raise her eyes in the silence following her statement.

Harm pressed his lips together, biting their inner edges in hopes that the pain might somehow drown out his terror at her words. He knew what answer he had to give her, he just wasn't certain he could stand to hear her response.

"I can't promise you won't someday have to live with that, Mac," he said softly.

"I know." She still didn't look at him.

"If you can't live with it..." He trailed off, afraid to finish the thought.

Mac's head snapped up, her gaze centering on him with terrifying intensity. "It's not a question of whether I can live with it, Harm. That risk is the price for having you."

He blinked, taken aback by her blunt statement, and her severe expression softened into a grin. She pointed at his side. "It's printed quite clearly on the tag."

Harm glanced down at himself as if he might just find a price tag dangling from his elbow. When he looked back up he found Mac watching him with a winsome smile. He found himself grinning back, though he wasn't sure if he had anything to be happy about.

Her smile faded. "I guess I've never _really_ thought through the implications..." Her cheeks colored. "You know... of our deal."

Harm gripped his coffee mug tightly in his hands, the pressure making his knuckles ache. "Are you having second thoughts?" He stared into his coffee dregs as if they might hold the secret to his future.

The lengthy silence tolled like a death knell.

Harm looked up when he felt a feather-light touch along his hand. Mac reached across the table, her fingers gently stroking his where they curled around his mug. The gesture was discreet, but powerful.

She looked into his eyes, her gaze deep and serious. "O.k. Yes, I guess this counts as second thoughts... technically." The corners of her mouth lifted. "But I'm not changing my mind."

Relief rushed through Harm. So much between them hinged on that spur of the moment deal they'd made on the steps of JAG headquarters. He pried his fingers loose from their viselike grip on the mug, returning her subtle caress. He saw the immediate response in her eyes, and felt his stomach tighten.

"Ahem."

They separated with a small jerk before turning guiltily to look up at Captain Ingles. The captain stood next to their table, watching them with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked innocently.

Harm cleared his throat. "Um, no, sir." He and Mac traded glances. "Would you like to join us?"

That drew a laugh. "I don't have time to play chaperone, Commander. I just wanted to find out how much longer you two expect your investigation to take."

"Barring any more complications, sir," Mac answered, "we could probably have it wrapped up later today. Tomorrow at the latest."

He nodded. "Good. I'll look forward to you report." He turned to go.

"And getting us off his boat," Mac murmured, sotto voice. Harm chuckled.

With a sigh, Mac pushed herself back from the table. "Well, I suppose we'd better get to it, sailor."

Harm grinned at her. "Aye aye, ma'am."


	27. 27

Chapter 27

Sarah Mackenzie stood just inside the open doors at the back of the Naval Academy chapel, lost in thought. Before her, the grand room lay in profound silence. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass at the front of the chapel, making the colors glow. Dust motes drifted down from the high cupola like tiny gossamer angels descending on the sunbeams. 

Mac sighed softly. She could imagine this beautiful room filled with flowers and candles, the gentle murmur of conversation and the creak of wood from the pews as people shifted in their seats. She cocked her head, listening to the faint echo of organ music that seemed to emanate from the very air itself.

"I hear you have to book this place well in advance for weddings."

Mac whirled. Audrey stood a couple of paces away, watching her with an unreadable expression.

Mac willed herself not to react defensively. She summoned a smile as she turned to survey the domed chapel once again. "It certainly is beautiful."

Audrey's demeanor softened as she, too, looked around. "Yes." She focused on Mac. "We should go if you're ready, ma'am. I only have an hour or so before my next class."

Mac nodded and moved to follow as Audrey left the chapel. "How is school going?" she asked as they walked down the wide stone steps fronting the building.

Audrey shrugged. "Well enough so far, but it's only been a couple of weeks."

Mac was about to comment when Audrey stopped abruptly and turned to face her. Doubt and anger flickered in the dark eyes. "I'm not sure we should be doing this, Colonel." 

Mac bit her lip. "Having lunch?"

"Trying to be friends."

For a moment Mac was tempted to give her a trite answer, as if pretending the issues between them weren't significant would make them easier to resolve. But she resisted the temptation. Audrey deserved more from her. So did Harm.

"I'm not either," she answered carefully, "but I think we have to try."

Audrey considered her for a long moment, then nodded acquiescence. They both seemed to be capable of being warm to each other so long as either Harm was in the room. But as soon as he left, it was as if a physical chill invaded the tableau, freezing all their good intentions. That was why Mac had suggested they spend some time together, in the hopes that the two could somehow find common ground that was more than just sucking it up for Harm's sake.

They resumed walking. Mac returned the salutes of passing midshipmen without conscious thought as they made their way toward the O-club.

"So, where should we start?" Audrey asked in her usual straightforward style.

Mac pondered the question, though she'd been thinking about it off and on for several months now. "Would you be… willing to tell me about your mother?" she finally ventured.

Audrey's head snapped around, her expression faintly outraged. Mac didn't let it deter her. 

"Isn't that the heart of the matter for us both?" she asked as calmly as she could manage. "That I'm not your mother and you're not my daughter?"

Audrey turned forward again, her gaze locked in the distance, her expression fierce. "Maybe." Her steps faltered. "You know I don't hold anything against you, personally, Colonel… right?"

"Please, it's Mac." 

Audrey nodded sharply. "Mac." She flashed one of her father's empty smiles, which disappeared as soon as it touched her lips. "I just—I don't know how I'm supposed to feel. I never thought I'd get to meet my dad, and it's been so wonderful to have him—to have _someone_—" She stopped abruptly and turned away, shoulders hunched.

Mac's breath caught in her throat, her heart panging with unexpected sympathy. She recognized the fear of abandonment that haunted Harm's daughter. The same consuming terror still clawed at the corners of her own mind, whispering that she'd been abandoned for a reason, that no one could ever love her—_really_—because she wasn't worth it.

"Harm's never going to stop loving you," Mac swore quietly, surprised at the conviction in her own voice. "Not because of me or anything else."

Audrey didn't look at her. "Say that again when you guys have your own perfect little family." Her voice was steeped in bitterness. 

Mac rocked back a half step, stunned despite herself at the depth of Audrey's hurt. It had been a while, she realized, since she had felt the same kind of pain—a pain that had begun to ease one weekend several years earlier when she'd finally seen her parents as they really were, flawed people who had tried their best but still failed to be what their daughter had needed them to be… and had taken the first steps to forgive them for that failure.

Audrey shook her head sharply, her expression hardening. "Never mind—I shouldn't have said that, and it doesn't matter."

Mac wanted to argue with her but knew better. Nothing she could say would pierce that shield of self-sufficiency, or convince the frightened girl within that she was worthy of love. In truth, Mac reflected, Audrey seemed much better adjusted than she had been at that age. But perhaps that was due to the fact that she hadn't been left in the care of an alcoholic. Audrey's aunt and uncle might not have given her the affection she needed, but there were worse things than being ignored.

Gathering herself, Mac did the only thing she could think of. 

"My mother left when I was thirteen."

Audrey gave her a surprised look. "She died?"

"No." Mac couldn't quite meet her eyes. "She just left."

"Why?"

In an instant, all the feelings Mac had spent a lifetime pushing away came streaming back. She blinked hard against tears before forcing herself under control. "I don't know. She—I think she believed I'd be better off without her."

A cool September breeze gusted between them, stirring Mac's hair. Audrey stared at her in surprise. "What about your dad?"

"He was an abusive drunk." Mac choked on a laugh. "But you know what, he was there for me. He tried."

Audrey's eyes darkened until they looked black. She said nothing, however, as they started walking once again. The silence remained until they'd settled at a table in the O-club's half-empty dining room.

To Mac's immense surprise, Audrey dug into her purse, emerging with a small, dog-eared photo that she handed to her. "This is my mom."

The black and white photo showed a young Vietnamese woman holding a girl of five or six in her lap. Their cheeks were pressed together as they smiled for the camera.

"You both look happy," Mac commented, carefully studying the features of a woman she couldn't help but consider a rival. Audrey's mother was certainly pretty, but not the striking beauty her daughter had become.

Audrey folded her arms on the table, pushing her empty plate out of the way. "We were, for a while. My mom thought America would be a new life for us."

Mac looked up when she didn't go on. "But...?"

Audrey shrugged. "We lived in a traditional community, Colonel. Nothing changed." Mac could hear the deep-seated bitterness in her words. "My mother wanted to marry, but there were plenty of good Vietnamese girls who hadn't given themselves to one of the Americans, and had a half-breed kid to prove it."

Mac watched Audrey sympathetically. She'd had to live with a difficult stigma. "Did she ever try to find Harm?"

Audrey sighed. "I don't know. I was too little." She stared at her hands. "I remember, when we first came to America, I was so excited about meeting my father. I didn't have any concept of a country... it was more like we were going to someone's house and I just thought, naturally, it would be his house and he'd be standing at the door, waiting for us." She looked up as a young man filled their water glasses. "Obviously, that didn't happen. My mother—" 

Audrey paused with a stricken expression, as if she had just connected something in her head that she'd never seen before. "When I asked about him, my mother always said he didn't want to see us. But that wasn't true—that was just something she said so I'd quit asking."

Mac could do nothing but watch sympathetically as Audrey's image of her mother shattered. 

After a moment, Audrey met her gaze, her expression deeply troubled. "Do you think she could have found him, if she wanted to?"

To that, Mac could only shrug. "I guess that depends on how much your mother knew about him—where he came from, that sort of thing." She forced her mind to focus on the facts. "Rabb isn't exactly a common name. However, he would have been shipping out for his first tour aboard the _Seahawk_ when you and your mother arrived in the U.S., so maybe she did try and just didn't find him."

"Maybe." Audrey didn't look convinced.

Mac fiddled with her napkin. "I have a lot of questions about why my mother made the choices she did, too... questions I'll probably never get a satisfactory answer to."

Their waitress came by to take their drink order, and the silence remained until the woman returned with their glasses. After the waitress left, Audrey leaned forward. 

"Can I ask you something personal, Mac?"

Mac nodded slowly. "Go ahead."

"Does what happened with your mom make you feel like you can't trust _anybody_?"

The blunt, brutally honest question startled Mac. She set her glass down with a thump. Audrey flinched, her defenses closing visibly across her face.

Seeing that, Mac bit her lip. She had to dig deep inside herself for the courage she needed to be equally honest with the young woman across from her. "Yes," she finally admitted. "Trust is a big issue for me. I'm always waiting for the people I care about to get fed up and leave."

"Does it ever go away?"

Mac smiled crookedly. "Maybe, with the help of some good people."

Audrey looked down at the tabletop. "Like my dad?"

She nodded. "Yes. But he's not the only one." Mac started to make a mental list of the people whose trust she felt she had gained, and who she trusted in return. Harm, Admiral Chegwidden, Bud, Harriet, Sturgis, Victor, Chloe... It was a surprisingly long list. The thought warmed her. Once upon a time, she wouldn't have been able to come up with a single name.

Mac reached out, touching Audrey lightly on the arm. "I'm not a threat to your relationship with your father."

Audrey arched one eyebrow in a playfully doubting expression reminiscent of Harm. "Just like I'm not a threat to _your_ relationship with him?"

Mac snorted ruefully. "I guess if I believe what I just said, I have to believe you, too, don't I?"

"Yep."

Unexpectedly, they grinned at each other. 

#

Harm whistled cheerfully as he made his way through the bullpen. Life was good. He and Mac had spent the evening before at her place, snuggled up together on the sofa talking about everything and nothing. The future he so desperately wanted with her finally, _finally_ seemed to be within reach.

His cheery tune died, however, when he spied the man standing just outside his office. Chuck DePalma turned, smiling brightly.

"Harm! Just the man I wanted to see."

Regaining his composure, Harm crossed the remaining distance to shake the hand DePalma offered. "Chuck. What are you doing here?"

"I've got a proposition for you." DePalma followed Harm inside. He settled into a chair and crossed his legs. "I was putting together some background information on you and your family for that interview we talked about, and it piqued my boss's curiosity. He, apparently, did some digging on his own—"

Harm kept his face impassive as he sat down behind his desk, but his gut was slowly twisting into a knot.

"And?"

DePalma grinned. "_And..._ forget the six-minute interview, buddy. ZNN is going to be doing a series of one-hour specials called _Heroes—Breaking the Myth_. My boss wants to focus one of the segments on you."

"Me?" Harm stared at him incredulously. "Why?"

Chuck laughed outright. "Because you're the genuine article, of course."

"No I'm not." The conversation was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

DePalma rolled his eyes. "You're a Tomcat pilot with three Distinguished Flying Crosses, a lawyer who actually believes in justice... you've spent your entire adult life serving in the armed forces, for cryin' out loud." His grin turned sly. "But, you're making my point for me. The series is intended to debunk the Superman mythos and examine the lives of real heroes—good, bad, and questionable."

Harm leaned slowly back in his chair. A dozen conflicting impulses battled for dominance in his heart, making him afraid to act on any of them. The idea appealed for reasons he didn't really want to contemplate—a strong desire to explain to the whole world, once and for all, that he wasn't what they thought he was. It also terrified him, the idea of exposing himself—his past, his actions—that way. What would Mac think, when she knew everything? What would his mother? Or Audrey?

DePalma cocked his head. "Should I take your hesitation to mean there are some dirty little secrets hidden beneath that lily white uniform, Commander?"

Harm contained a flash of anger, feeling the muscles tighten across his chest. "I don't have any secrets."

"No, just a service record three inches thick and a rather extensive file over at Langley."

"That's not the same thing." Harm rocked lightly in his chair, affecting nonchalance. "What is it you really want to know, DePalma?"

Chuck met his gaze. "For starters, I want to know what made you leave Laos so abruptly."

Harm couldn't help it; he flinched. DePalma affected not to have noticed.

"I also want to know how a man who refused to wear his wings for _five years_ could turn into the kind of pilot who is awarded three DFC's. And I want to know why that same pilot would rather be in a courtroom defending some seaman apprentice than catapulting off a carrier."

"Is that all?" Harm asked, letting a hint of sarcasm creep into his voice.

Chuck was unfazed. "Look, Harm. I've known you since you were sixteen years old—that little hellhole bar in Saigon, remember? I know what happened to that girl and her mother, and I know you were back out on the trails with Stryker the next day. Most people, let alone most teenage kids, would have given up and gone home after something like that. You didn't. And, as far as I can tell from watching you—lo, these past twenty-three years—you never have. Given up. Backed down." He stabbed the desktop with one finger in emphasis. "Or surrendered even an inch of what you believe in, no matter what the personal cost—and that, my friend, is the definition of heroism, whether you like it or not."

For a moment, Harm could only stare. DePalma had thrown down the gauntlet, challenging him to prove, or disprove, his reputation under the harsh media lights. He was sorely tempted to kick the journalist out of his office. Living with himself was difficult enough sometimes without having to examine his choices under a microscope. And yet... 

Harm drummed his fingertips against his chair arm, thinking furiously. Wasn't this what he ached to do... let people in? 

"All right, Chuck," he said before his courage could desert him. Maybe it was time to get some of these things out into the open. "But on one condition."

DePalma smiled easily. "Name it."

"Leave my mother out of this. She's been hurt enough."

Chuck raised an eyebrow at his tone, but nodded. "Done." He rose from his seat. "By the way, Admiral Chegwidden has already agreed to give you the time off—" He grinned cheekily. "And to be interviewed."

Harm narrowed his eyes, wondering if this had all been a set up.

DePalma chuckled. "Well, I'm off. I've got a lot of calls to make." He waved a cheerful good bye. "Don't get up. I can find my way out."

Harm shook his head as he watched the other man weave his way through the bullpen. DePalma nodded respectfully to Mac as they passed, but then turned to watch her as she walked away. He looked up, caught Harm scowling at him through his office blinds, and smiled. Then he was gone.


	28. 28

Chapter 28

Harm strode across the stiff, plush carpet of the soundstage that had until recently been an unused hangar at Miramar NAS, anger snapping from his heels with every stride. ZNN had provided him with a first class ticket, which he'd spurned in favor of an available seat on an Air Force C-141 Starlifter being ferried out to Edwards.

"DePalma!" The command voice he rarely employed cut across the raging babble of sound crews and other technicians who filled the high-ceilinged room. For a moment, silence descended and those in Harm's path quickly scuttled aside as the tall, uniformed commander bore down on them.

Chuck DePalma turned at the sound of his name. He stood near the edge of the lighted interview area, deep in discussion with a man and a woman, both of whom looked like anchors.

Chuck grinned. "Harm, you're here. We were beginning to worry the Air Force had lost you." He spread his arms in a welcoming gesture, blithely ignoring the displeasure directed at him.

Harm came to an abrupt, militarily precise halt only a few inches from DePalma and glared at him. To his credit, Chuck didn't flinch. The two anchors, however, drew back a step.

"We had a deal, DePalma." A long, cold flight in the back of the C-141 had only served to inflame Harm's anger. "My mother's house is _ten miles_ from here. I told you not to involve her." 

"I'm afraid it's too late for that, dear."

Harm's head snapped around at the sound of his mother's voice. She stood a few feet away, one hand resting on a lighting truss. Frank stood behind her, his hands gripping her shoulders in silent support. Her expression was unreadable.

"Mom." Harm wavered between greeting his mother properly and smashing DePalma's face in. His fingers twitched, the only sign of his indecision. Then he turned completely and went to kiss his mother on the cheek. 

"Hello, Harm." 

He forced a smile. "Hi, Mom."

Frank offered his hand, which Harm shook.

"You look good, son," Frank told him, his smile warm.

Harm felt the edge of his anger softening. "Thanks." He glanced down at his mother's face. "I'm sorry you were dragged into this. Chuck gave me his word that he'd leave you out of it." He cast a venomous glance in the journalist's direction.

His mother shook her head softly. "Don't blame him, Harm. I..." She straightened her shoulders with something akin to a shudder. "I've avoided the truth long enough."

His heart clenched at the veiled hurt in her eyes. "Are you sure?" 

She paused, but then nodded. "Yes."

Harm bit his lip. He'd never wanted to hurt her, but he had, and now the idea of uncovering all those hidden wounds struck chords of terror in his heart. He didn't really know what they would find, or if either of them would be able to handle the result.

"Everybody done saying hello?" Chuck sidled up to them. "We're renting the equipment by the hour, so we need to get started." 

Harm glared at the journalist over his mother's head. "Don't think I'm going to forgive you that easily, DePalma," he said in what those who knew him recognized as a dangerous voice. "You gave me your word."

Chuck shrugged and spread his hands. "Hey, it wasn't me, o.k.? We decided to film out here because this is where you grew up—tomorrow we're going to get some shots of the house you lived in here at Miramar—and then my boss figured out that your mom still lived in the area and... well... I figured it would be better if I went and made the invitation since I know some of the history..."

Harm bit back a sigh and decided to drop it. As aggravating as he could be sometimes, Chuck was never intentionally malicious.

Looking just a bit relieved, DePalma ushered them toward the center of the lighted area, where a set of chairs had magically appeared. The male anchor was already seated, but he stood as the others approached. He was a tall man, though not quite as tall as Harm, and handsome in a distinguished sort of way. Harm recognized him vaguely, no doubt having seen him at some point during a ZNN broadcast.

"Here, let me introduce you," Chuck said. "Commander Harmon Rabb, meet Charles Morley. Charles, Commander Rabb and his mother and stepfather, Frank and Trish Burnett." The introductions were surprisingly elegant from the rough-edged DePalma. Harm shook the interviewer's hand, pleasantly surprised by the other's firm grip, then stepped back to allow him to greet his parents.

"Commander," Morley said once the introductions were complete. "I've been reading your service record—as much of it as the Navy was willing to release, anyway." He flashed a disarming grin. "Did you really break that marine out of an Iraqi prison?"

Harm gave him a sidelong look, belatedly realizing that, for all his perfect grooming, Charles Morley was a kindred spirit to DePalma. "What does my record say?" he asked after a moment. A few steps away, his mother looked over at them curiously.

Morley chuckled. "Not quite enough. I can confirm that you were in Iraq when the marine escaped and that you and another JAG officer left the country in something of a hurry." He shrugged. "Everything beyond that requires reading between the lines."

"Harm, I thought that trip to Iraq was to retrieve some kind of stealth airplane?" His mother stared up at him, a V etched between her brows. Her tone was mild but underlain with a hint of suspicion.

Harm shot Frank an accusing look. Just how much had he been telling her? "That was Iran, Mom. Iraq was a few years earlier." He gave Morley a pointed stare, daring him to comment. "Meg and I were there to defend a marine corporal who accidentally blundered across the border and was arrested by the Iraqis."

Trish waved one hand dismissively. "Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan. I swear, Harm—is there a country you _haven't_ been to?"

Harm shrugged. "Most of Africa." In response, Morley raised his eyebrows while DePalma grinned. 

The various parties settled into their seats. Harm had the center chair, with his mother on one side and DePalma on the other. Morley sat opposite them. Frank found a seat just beyond the edge of the filming area, near his wife but out of the way.

Morley shifted in his seat until he seemed to find a comfortable position. "All right. Here's how this session is hopefully going to work: I'm going to ask a few questions to get things started, but the idea is for me to stay in the background as much as possible and let you tell your story. Don't worry about trying to sound eloquent. That's what the editor gets paid for."

Harm's stomach did a nervous flip-flop. "O.k." For a moment, he regretted not asking Mac to come with him, though he doubted she would have been given permission. With Singer gone on maternity leave and Bud only just returning to duty, the rest of them were swamped with cases. Despite that, he had been given a couple of days to come out to San Diego, but he doubted the Admiral would have released another of his attorneys just to provide Harm with moral support.

"So where do we start?"

"Actually, I'd like to start with Mrs. Burnett."

Harm turned to his mother and saw her fingers tighten on the arms of her chair. Her face remained composed, though, as she answered, "What do you want to know, Mr. Morley?"

The anchor matched his tone to hers. "Tell me about 1969. You were living in base housing here at Miramar, correct? Your husband was a naval aviator on his second tour in Vietnam, and you had a son who was turning six..."

Harm saw his mother's expression soften ever so slightly. The blue-green eyes gazed off into the distance, both in time and space. "I've always loved California," she began softly. "That was the only good thing about Harm being in the Navy." She paused, returning to the present. "Harm Sr., that is." She glanced briefly at her son, a quiet apology flickering in her eyes. Harm nodded acknowledgement. It still hurt to know how much she'd despised the career both he and his father had chosen, but he could accept it.

Morley waited patiently, and after a moment she went on. "The war years were hard for everyone. So many young men were over in Vietnam, and so many of them didn't come back. Every day it seemed we heard about someone who'd just found out their husband or brother or son wasn't coming home..." She brushed a hair away from her forehead. "I think I lived in a state of perpetual terror—of losing Harm Sr." She raised her eyes to Morley's. "Of being left alone, to raise a child by myself." She dropped her gaze. "That's what I was doing, anyway, but the thought that he was out there—that he _would_, eventually, come home again—made it bearable. Everyone tried to make like things were normal—my neighbors and I would get together to talk, and it would be just like our husbands were off at work rather than off to war—like they'd be home for dinner. It kept us sane."

"What was your son like back then?" Morley asked. Harm tried to keep his expression still, but it was a distinctly strange experience to be talked about in such a fashion.

Trish flashed a real smile and shook her head. "Can you say 'boundless energy'?" The comment drew a few chuckles. "Kids are constantly in motion anyway, but my neighbors would be over and we'd watch Harm go barreling through the house and they'd just laugh and ask me how I managed to keep him corralled."

Morley grinned knowingly, as if he had children of his own. "And how did you?"

She chuckled. "I didn't. The base police figured out who he was pretty quick, and as often as not they'd show up at my doorstep with Harm in tow and some outrageous story about where they'd found him this time."

Harm ducked his head as everyone turned to look at him, trying not to blush. He had vague memories of riding in the jeep with the base MPs. They'd give him bubble gum, which his mother didn't allow him to chew inside the house, and read comic books to him back at the guard station.

Morley's expression grew solemn. "What happened on Christmas Eve that year?"

Harm bit his lip as his mother's face closed in on itself. She shut her eyes. "The thing I was most afraid of." She reopened her eyes, but kept them downcast. "I was in the middle of making Christmas dinner—it was just Harm and me, but I wanted it to feel like a special occasion so I was cooking up a turkey with all the fixings—and the doorbell rang." She raised a trembling hand to her lips. "You never get used to it, you know—that spike of pure terror when you open the door and see those two officers standing there in their dress uniforms. All I could think of, when they told me Harm had been shot down, was that my son was standing right behind me and I _could not_ start screaming." She looked up, blue eyes brimming with tears. "But I wanted to. I wanted to kick and scratch and claw and scream at those men and the Navy for taking away half of the people I loved in the world."

Harm reached over to catch his mother's hand in his, squeezing it tightly. His chest constricted tightly, making it hard to breathe. He knew that fear now—that violently irrational terror at the thought of losing someone he loved. It was the fear of devastation—the fear that, somehow, he would find himself unable to survive the loss.

His mother looked over at him, then down at their clasped hands.

Morley turned his attention to Harm. "Did you understand what was happening then? That your father had been shot down and was probably never coming home?"

Harm braced himself for the wave of hurt, anger and bitterness that inevitably washed through him whenever he thought about his dad's fate. But, instead of those, he was surprised to realize that all he felt now was sadness.

"I knew something bad was happening," he finally told the other man. "I don't think I really understood _what_ until a little later, but it wasn't very long. I knew what it meant when we put the star up in our front window, and that was only a few days after Christmas." For a moment the memories threatened to drown him, but he pushed them away.

"This was a defining moment in your life, wasn't it?" Morley managed to sound inquisitive and sympathetic at the same time.

Harm snorted. "It was _the_ defining moment." He ran an uncomfortable hand through his hair. "More than anything else in my life, losing my dad in Vietnam has had the biggest influence on who I am and..." He paused. "And what I've chosen to become." He didn't look over at his mother. Her hand felt frozen in his.

Morley leaned forward. "By 'what you've chosen to become' do you mean as a Navy officer and Tomcat pilot?"

Harm nodded slowly. "Yes." He released his mother's hand. "Among others."

"What others?" Morley wanted to know.

Harm forced himself to maintain the other man's gaze. "The job of a combat pilot is to confront and, if necessary, destroy any threat to the United States, its citizens, or any of its interests. Which is a neat way of saying we either warn off or kill anyone that threatens the people and places we're committed to defending." 

"I think most people would see that as a noble cause, particularly in the current environment."

Harm frowned. "And I wouldn't disagree with you. I wouldn't do it if it wasn't a worthy calling. But—" He glanced at his mother, who watched him with hawkish intensity. "That doesn't mean there isn't a cost."

Silence engulfed them. Morley watched him appraisingly. "I asked about your choices outside of your career as a naval officer, and you responded by talking about the responsibilities of a combat pilot. Is that really what you meant by 'others'?"

Harm's hands closed into fists, which he forced open. "The combat part, yes."

Chuck DePalma, who had been silent until then, let out a soft "Ah" of understanding. All eyes fixed on him. "Vietnam," he said, as if that explained everything.

And for Harm, at least, it did. He had known when he left home that June day that the choice he was making would change his life—would change him. Learning his father's fate might very well have a cost that was measured in lives, perhaps his own, and he had decided that it was worth the price. Had he known all the consequences ahead of time, he wondered suddenly—not just Audrey's existence, but the painful rift between himself and his mother, and the ever-present emptiness in his own life—would he have made the same choice?

Morley looked between them for a moment. "You ran away from home when you were sixteen years old, correct? You went to Vietnam."

Harm nodded, his throat dry. 

"Why?"

"To search for evidence that American POWs were still being held in Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam."

"But you were just a kid."

Harm looked down at his hands. "No one else was doing anything," he said softly, and saw his mother flinch. "I wasn't willing to accept that."

A perceptive man, Morley turned to Harm's mother. "Is that how you saw it?"

She shook her head, a sharp, jerky motion. She pulled her hand away from Harm's and folded them in her lap. "Harm thought I was betraying his father by going on with my life... getting remarried." She turned abruptly to face her son. "I didn't forget him, Harm." Her voice was a curious mixture of anger and pleading. "I never _forgot_ him. But I had to consider what was best for us—for you and for me. Do you honestly think he would have wanted us to live like that?"

Harm didn't get a chance to reply as she went on, her voice rising. "Do you have any idea what it was like—I was already terrified because you were missing, and we had no idea what had happened to you—only to have the State Department tell me you were in that horrible place? They couldn't even tell me for sure that you were alive—only that you'd entered the country! The first proof I had was that picture they put in the newspaper." Her voice broke. She took a deep breath. "To be honest, I'm glad you didn't find him," she went on. Harm's head snapped up, centering on her in shock.

She met his gaze, eyes shining. "I think it would have broken his heart to see you like that."

Harm stared at her, hurt beyond words. Somewhere in the back of his psyche he understood that she simply valued his life above that of the husband she'd lost. Knowing what he did now about their relationship, perhaps that wasn't unreasonable. For her. But how could she expect him to have the same value system? They were both his parents.

"He was still alive, Mom." 

"Not in Vietnam."

"We didn't know that, then." Angry, Harm looked away. "How could you stand it? Knowing he could be out there, rotting away in some bamboo cage?"

"There was nothing I could do about that!"

Harm sprang to his feet, running both hands through his hair in a gesture of anguish. He whirled to face his mother. "Well there _was_ something I could do about it, and I did. Why are you so mad at me for trying to find him?"

A tear spilled from his mother's eye. "Because I lost my little boy that day!" she returned vehemently. "It was like the child I'd raised _died_ in that place. I didn't even recognize you when you came home!"

Harm slowly shook his head as pain stabbed him through the chest. "I didn't change that much," he told her softly. Bitterness tightened his throat, and he fought the urge to gag. All he'd wanted when he walked into the house in La Jolla was to be able to go back to being that boy.

His mother looked up at him. "Yes you did, Harm. And—God forgive me—for a while I hated you for taking my baby away from me." She spun away, shoulders hunched and shaking. "What kind of mother hates her own child?"

The broken whisper shredded Harm's resentment. He dropped to his knees beside her chair and gathered her into his arms.

"I'm so sorry, Mom."

Her fingers stroked his hair, evoking an old, comforting memory from his childhood. She pressed her damp cheek to his. "Oh, baby. So am I."


	29. 29

Chapter 29

For a while silence reigned, unbroken save for an occasional snuffle from Harm's mother. He held her tightly, wishing desperately for some way to wind the clock backward and undo the years. He'd never realized how much guilt she carried with her from those first days after his return. He'd seen and felt her anger—and now, at least, understood its source—but it had driven a wedge of bitterness and remorse between them that neither had ever acknowledged. Until now.

"That's not going into the print," Chuck stated from his seat.

Harm looked up at him questioningly, and the journalist shrugged. "I'd give you my word, but I doubt you'd accept it."

Harm kept his voice calm for his mother's sake. "No, but I'll trust your instinct for self-preservation, DePalma." He rose to his feet, bringing his mother with him. "We're taking a break."

Morley nodded and made an accommodating gesture. "Of course. Take all the time you need."

Together, Harm and his mother made their way off the stage and into the cool shadows beyond. Frank stood waiting for them. 

"This is why I never wanted to talk about this," Trish began, brusquely wiping the tears from her face. 

"Mom—"

"No, hear me out." She gave Harm a severe look, and he subsided. "It's so old. I should have gotten over it by now—been able to... let go... stop being angry." She fluttered one hand in a helpless gesture. "But I can't, and I'm not, and the last thing I want to do is pull us even further apart."

"You haven't, Mom." Harm caught her gaze and held it, wishing he could impress on her how much he meant the words. "It was selfish of me to think I was the only one who would pay a price for my going to Vietnam."

Trish stared at him, seeming to regain some of her composure. She sighed. "You have no idea how badly you scared me when you walked into the house, Harm. The State Department had already called to let us know they were bringing you home, and they told me you weren't hurt, but—"

Harm could guess what she'd seen. The conditions he'd lived under for three and a half months had been harsh. He'd grown thin and hollow-cheeked from the sparse diet, every ounce of fat burned away as they hiked hundreds of miles back and forth across the Southeast Asian countryside. The constant vigilance from living in a hostile place had left him tense, suspicious. The CIA had disarmed him before turning him over to State for the trip home, which was undoubtedly a good thing. Had he walked through the front door carrying the AK-47 rifle and 9mm sidearm that had been his constant companions for those months, there was no telling what might have happened.

"You had a right to be freaked out," he admitted after a moment. Beside Trish, Frank raised an eyebrow for his choice of words. He shrugged. "I didn't recognize myself when I looked in the mirror, either. I just... didn't care."

Frank spoke for the first time, his gaze steady. "Why? Because you failed to find out what had happened to your father?"

Abruptly, the walls that held back Harm's memories crumbled, plunging him into the past. He drew a sharp breath, staggering under the full impact of events he usually relegated to the darkest depths of his consciousness, never to escape except in his nightmares.

He shook his head sharply, trying to banish the images. "No," he managed in a strained voice. "Because I might have found him— if it weren't for—" Nausea clenched his gut, twisting savagely. "There were _files_! Real, paper records—"

Frank's strong hand caught his arm, steadying him. Both Burnetts watched him with ill-concealed distress. 

"Harm. Breathe, dear." His mother's gaze searched his face, their clear blue depths darkening with understanding. "Something terrible happened, didn't it?" Fear flickered to life in her expression, but this time without anger.

Harm stared helplessly at her. "That's the thing, Mom. I don't know."

"You don't remember?" she asked warily.

"I remember. I don't know if it was terrible." He forced himself to speak, carefully enunciating each word. "There's a chance we could have found out what had happened to him—about him being sent to the Soviet Union—maybe enough to bring him home. Like I said, there were files. They were supposed to contain prisoner transfer records."

"But you don't know for sure?" Frank watched him with a kind of cautious concern.

Harm shook his head. "No. Stryker never got a chance to see them."

Frank and Trish shared an indecipherable look. Then Frank's gaze went over his stepson's shoulder. "This may be a conversation we want to continue later," he told them.

Harm turned to find Chuck DePalma standing about ten feet away, his posture inquisitive. It wasn't immediately clear whether the journalist could hear the quiet exchange, but Harm wouldn't have put eavesdropping past him.

"Did you need something, DePalma?" Harm asked coolly.

Chuck raised both eyebrows in an innocent expression. "I was just checking to see if you folks were ready to continue."

Harm rocked back on his heels, staring at the ground while he gathered the scattered shreds of his patience. "We'll be there in a minute," he finally told DePalma.

Trish caught his arm. "I want to hear what happened—in Vietnam," she said quietly, a small quaver in her voice. "This isn't the time or place, but—"

Harm covered her hand with his own where it rested against his biceps. His stomach continued to roil, torn by the conflicting emotions that ran through him. He forced himself to look into her face. "Does that mean everything, Mom?" He saw the fear in her eyes intensify. "Because once I start down that path... I'm not sure—" 

Trish raised her chin, pressing her lips together in a thin line. "I can promise you this, Harm: I'll listen to whatever you want to tell me. I should have done that much twenty-three years ago." Her expression faltered. "But after that..." She swallowed convulsively. "After that, well, we'll just have to figure out where to go from there."

Harm nodded. It was as much as he could hope for. "O.k."

#

After they returned to their seats, the conversation moved on to somewhat safer topics. But only somewhat. Charles Morley had a knack for asking difficult questions.

"Commander, many people label you as a hero—almost everyone we talked to, in fact. When we asked them if they would use the word 'hero' or 'heroic' in conjunction with you, the answer was a nearly universal assent." He studied Harm for a moment. "What do you think about that?"

Harm looked away from the journalist's prying gaze. Heroes weren't supposed to be so deeply flawed, were they? "Since you've seen my service record, you know that for every commendation there's a letter of reprimand or some other black mark." He forced himself to look at Morley. "I do what I believe is right, to the best of my ability, but... no, I don't consider myself a hero."

Morley turned to Trish. "And you, Mrs. Burnett? What do you think?"

She flashed Harm a warm, rueful smile. "I'm impossibly biased, Mr. Morley, but yes, my son is a hero. I'm proud of him for his courage and honor, even though some of the things he does just scares me to death."

"Like what?" Morley wanted to know.

She shook her head. "Do you know how many times, now, the Navy has sent men to my door to tell me my son was either hurt or missing? They even told me he was dead, once." Harm heard the current of pain beneath her cavalier words and reached over to catch her hand once more.

"I remember that," DePalma commented. "I was in Moscow." He shook his head. "I was absolutely floored when the Russian authorities released the names of the two people that had allegedly been killed in that MiG."

Harm turned to look at Chuck in surprise. Was that real emotion he heard in the man's voice? Would Chuck DePalma actually be saddened by his death? Harm didn't have time to ponder as the conversation moved on.

"Mrs. Burnett, would you mind giving me a list—chronologically, if you can—of all of those incidents?" Morley leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Trish frowned, but nodded. "All right." She glanced over at Harm, her expression unreadable. "The first time was the ramp strike. I think—I think that one was the worst. It was like reliving a nightmare. I looked out the window and saw the Navy sedan pulling into the driveway and it was like Harm Sr. all over again." She bit her lip, her eyes bright. 

"Just to clarify—" Morley turned to Harm. "That was the accident that ended your career as a naval aviator. You were diagnosed with night blindness, which was the cause of the ramp strike."

Harm nodded, feeling a old pang of regret. He'd lost so much in the blink of an eye—and whether for better or worse, the memory would always sting.

"And that was when you decided to become a lawyer."

Harm nodded again.

Morley cocked his head. "Why law?"

Harm couldn't help a sour smile at the man's puzzled expression. Nearly everyone looked at him like that when he said he'd gone from being a fighter pilot to being a lawyer. Harm sobered. "Because of my stepfather, really." He glanced offstage, toward where he knew Frank sat, watching. Harm had never told Frank how much influence he'd had. "He's a vice president at Chrysler, and whenever someone would file what he considered to be a frivolous lawsuit against the company he would mutter about how the law was designed to protect the innocent and guard the people's freedoms, not reward them for their own stupidity." Harm looked down, gathering his thoughts and his composure. "During the investigation into the ramp strike, I got to see some of what JAG lawyers do. At first, I hated the way they were digging into every little detail of my record as a pilot and questioning every action I'd taken during the events leading up to the accident. I already knew I had killed my RIO, and the investigation was like salt on the wound." 

Leaning forward, he rubbed his palms together, a slow motion that spoke volumes about the tumult of his thoughts. "By the time we reached the board of inquiry, though, I realized that I was grateful for the investigation. Because I believed it would defend my RIO since he couldn't defend himself, and because _I_ needed to know the truth, no matter what it was. And I realized that it was the law itself that would be my judge more than any person, that I could trust that judgement because it was impartial and based on the Constitution I had sworn to uphold. So when the board ruled the accident 'no fault', I was able to accept that as the truth. I can't say the ruling took away the guilt I felt, but it did let me move on with my life." He shrugged. "Being able to do that for other people seemed like something worth doing, so that's how I ended up as a JAG."

There was a moment of silence as those gathered absorbed his speech.

"Was that guilt the reason you wouldn't wear your wings?" DePalma asked, his voice intent but surprisingly gentle. "I got the impression that, until you landed that injured Tomcat on the _Seahawk _during an investigation, no one at JAG knew you'd been an aviator or even that you'd done sea duty."

Harm felt a hot flash of shame—for his own behavior, not Mace's death. Here was just a little more proof that he wasn't nearly as heroic as people wanted to believe. He forced himself to meet Chuck's gaze. "Yes, I hid it. At the time, I would have told you I was simply closing one chapter of my life. But the truth is that I didn't want to have to deal with the questions, because then I would have to either defend my actions—which really aren't defensible—or brush them off and simply endure the looks and the behind-my-back whispers."

"Doesn't that happen now?" Chuck nodded toward the gold wings that glinted in the bright studio lights.

"Yes."

The journalist snorted at his short answer. "So what changed that day on the _Seahawk_?"

Harm paused as the memories returned, no less powerful for being eight years old. "We'd taken battle damage," he finally said. "I told Lobo it was like riding a washing machine—it was all I could do to maintain heading and altitude. It was a dark night—no moon—and as I lined up for landing, I realized that the conditions were at least as bad as the night of the ramp strike. I literally _couldn't see_ the deck." He looked up. "I flew it in on memory and the LSO's instructions. It was just luck that the CAG and I weren't both killed. But it convinced me the problem really was with my eyes, and that was the moment I went from being _guilty_ of Mace's death to simply _responsible_ for it."

"That's a subtle difference," was DePalma's reply.

Harm frowned, then decided to be brutally honest. "A guy who kills his RIO doesn't deserve to wear wings," he said, putting those feelings into words for the first time. "But an accident—even a horrible and tragic one—is only that." 

"Fair enough." DePalma nodded, seeming satisfied.

Morley cleared his throat after a second. "Going back to you, Mrs. Burnett... What was the next incident that involved official notice from the Navy that something had happened to your son?"

Trish frowned. "That was the thing in China." 

Morley raised his eyebrows and looked to Harm for clarification. 

Harm chose his words carefully. "I was in Hong Kong as a legal advisor, and had decided to do some sailing in my free time."

"They told me you'd been in a boating accident." Harm's mother shook her head slowly, traces of anger in her face. "For the longest time, no one would tell me anything except that you were missing. They couldn't tell me if you'd been hurt, or even if they thought you were alive or dead."

"They didn't know, Mom."

"That didn't make it any easier!" She raised her chin, eyes flashing. "I take back what I said a minute ago. The ramp strike was terrifying, but at least I knew what had happened." 

Harm met her gaze, his stomach sinking. "Did you really think I was dead?" He'd never asked much about that incident, for fear that he'd inadvertently say too much. He did _not_ want his mother to ever know what the Chinese had done to him during his brief captivity. She lived with too much already.

His mother cocked her head, considering. "No," she finally replied. "I never did." Then she gasped softly, her eyes filling with tears. Her words came out in a rush. "I never believed you were dead, Harm—not once. Not when you were missing in China, not when you went down in the Atlantic, not even when they said the accident in Russia had been confirmed. I _always_ believed I would see you again, if I just held on to hope—" She stared at him, her blue eyes full of comprehension. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The same way you never gave up on your father."

In an instant, Harm knew he had been forgiven. 

His throat closed painfully tight. He squeezed his mother's hand, wishing he had some better way to convey his feeling to her.

She didn't seem to need it. She smiled at him, and for the first time since he'd returned from Vietnam, there was no shadow of pain behind the expression. Harm couldn't help the soft laughter that bubbled out of him as the heavy weight he'd carried for so long disintegrated beneath that pure smile.

__

It's going to be all right, he thought in dazed relief. _We're going to make it through this._


	30. 30

Chapter 30

Harm spent the next day telling the journalists about some of his less-classified adventures and showing them around Miramar with his mother. It was an emotional day, but not a bad one. The old house looked much like Harm remembered, and the memories it evoked were mostly good. One of the things that surprised him was how few of those memories his father was a part of. In truth, he only had a very few concrete memories of the man he'd spent a lifetime trying to find, to follow, to live up to. Most of what he "remembered" was a compilation of stories he'd been told and images from photographs. That realization saddened him, but didn't really surprise him. He'd simply been too young when his father was shot down to retain much of their life together.

That afternoon he found himself at his mother's house, seated at the round table in one corner of the huge kitchen where they'd always eaten family dinners. Photo albums lay scattered across the tabletop. Harm flipped through the pages, seeing his family in a new light. There was nothing there of Harmon Rabb, Sr. What little his mother had kept, she'd given to him many years earlier. Instead, the pages were full of her and Frank—and himself—looking for all the world like a normal, nuclear family.

At the very back of one of the albums he found a picture clipped from a newspaper. The paper had stiffened and yellowed with age, but the image was unmistakable. Harm bit his lip. He still didn't know why he'd allowed DePalma to take those pictures outside that little bar in Saigon. He remembered the journalist's cajoling—_Don't you want to let your family know you're still alive over here?_

He set the picture aside as his mother took the seat next to him, a steaming mug in her hands. For a moment he wanted to hide the clipping, but fought the impulse. Trish set her tea down with a soft thump, cocking her head to study the image. With one neatly manicured nail she turned it right side up, her expression thoughtful.

"That was when I knew I'd lost my little boy." Her voice held a wealth of quiet pain, but there was no accusation behind the words.

"It was a bad day," he agreed softly. He stared, unseeing, at the tabletop as the memories rose. "Stryker's wife and her daughter were killed that day." He paused, aware of the half-truth in his words. The colonel had never formally married Kim-Ly, though common law could probably have been invoked on their behalf. "They were shot by Laotian border guards. Stryker wouldn't let me go back after them." Though he knew Stryker had loved Kim-Ly and her daughter in his own way, Harm had never understood how he could just walk away without even trying to save them. That act had required a coldness he hoped he would never possess.

His mother gave him a long, frightened look. "I'm sorry."

Harm didn't meet her gaze. "Jin was only fourteen. She should never have been out there with us."

She studied him for a moment. "Did you—did you... care for her?"

Harm decided to take the careful question at face value. "I had a crush," he admitted, unable to contain the smile that stole across his lips. She had definitely been the first girl to mesmerize him.

His mother echoed the smile, but the expression didn't touch her eyes. She moistened her lips, looking just a bit nervous. "Was she—? I mean, did you—?" She looked away with a frustrated sigh.

Harm snorted. "Are you trying to ask me if I slept with her?"

He received a short, sharp nod in response.

He grinned ruefully. "No. Her mother watched us like a hawk." They'd stolen a few kisses here and there, but he'd never really had any thoughts—beyond boyish fantasies—of taking it much further than that. Given sufficient opportunity, of course, that might have changed, but the relationship had truly been an innocent one.

The phone rang just then, breaking the moment. Trish rose to her feet and went to answer it. 

"Hello?" 

Harm studied his mother where she leaned against the counter, phone tucked between her ear and shoulder. It amazed him that someone so small could have such strength running through them. 

"Yes, he is. Can I tell him who's calling?" Harm heard the first stirrings of uncertainty in her voice and his attention sharpened. She glanced toward him, her expression hooded.

There was a pause, and his mother paled visibly in response to whatever was said on the other end of the line. Harm tensed as she drew the phone away from her ear and held it out to him. 

"It's... Audrey."

Unable to interpret her expression, he took the phone from her fingers. "Audrey?"

"Hi, Dad." 

Harm could immediately tell something was wrong. His daughter's voice had a dead note to it that he hadn't heard since their first few meetings.

"What's happened? Are you all right?" His gut tightened into a hard little knot.

"I'm o.k. My aunt just called. My uncle had a heart attack. He's going in for bypass surgery in the morning."

Harm blinked. Le Van Thanh had been a very bright, very angry twelve-year-old when he'd known him. Now a man in his mid-thirties, it seemed strange that he might suffer something like a heart attack.

Audrey's voice broke into his reflection. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I'm flying to Kansas City tonight." Her voice sounded strained. 

"I thought you didn't want to see them again?" Harm felt a pang of jealousy that he tried to bury before he had to question its source.

Audrey didn't seem to notice. "I didn't. But—he could die."

The simple statement hit hard. Lin was already dead. He would never be able to talk to her—to apologize or tell her any of the things she had probably needed to hear from him. But that didn't mean he couldn't try to make peace with her family. He made his choice in an instant.

"Would you like some company while you're there?"

Her silence spoke more loudly of her surprise than any words could have. "You'd come with me?" she finally asked. "Why?"

Harm sighed. "Because you shouldn't have to go alone. And because I shouldn't hide from the past any longer."

She was silent for a long moment. "O.k." she finally said.

They talked a little longer, working out logistics. The conversation ended with Harm promising to call her cell as soon as he had his flight information. When he set the cordless phone down, he found that his mother had returned to her seat and was watching him with wary curiosity.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he told her. "I'm going to have to leave tonight." He'd intended to stay through the weekend.

To his surprise, she reached over and brushed a stray hair back from his temple with a soft smile. "It's all right, Harm. Go take care of your daughter."

He met her gaze, and for the first time found acceptance there. He caught her hand, squeezing it tightly. "Thanks, Mom."

She nodded. "You're welcome."

#

Harm followed Audrey into the hospital room with his heart in his throat. Le Van Thanh lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling with an air of resigned boredom. He turned when the door opened. He didn't look much like the boy Harm remembered. Time had turned him into a man, illness had done the rest. His skin was an unhealthy gray and lines of worry and fatigue were etched into his face, drawing it downward. An oxygen tube ran from his nose and an IV dangled from his arm.

"Hello, Uncle," Audrey said in Vietnamese as she walked to the bedside. Her smile was hesitant. "How are you feeling?"

Thanh snorted in disgust. "Like a pig ready for the butcher's knife." His voice seemed far stronger than his body, and carried the perpetual sharp edge Harm remembered. Thanh's gaze drifted past Audrey to Harm. He stared at him for several long moments before recognition flared.

"Harmon Rabb." The words crackled with old animosity.

Harm nodded in neutral acknowledgement, but couldn't help the note of sarcasm that crept into his voice. " Thán từ, Thanh." _Hello, Thanh... didn't think you'd ever see me again, did you?_ Anger burned in his gut as a suspicion he'd held for several months gained strength. They had never been friends, but Thanh had certainly known enough about Harm to have located him when he arrived in the States—if he wanted to.

Audrey looked between the two of them in confusion tinged with apprehension. Harm didn't think it had occurred to her that, having known her mother, he would also have known Lin's younger brother.

Audrey's uncle shifted his attention back to her. "So you found him, did you?" He also spoke Vietnamese.

Audrey lifted her chin. "He found me, Uncle."

Thanh's scowl deepened. "And now that you have your American father, have all your problems miraculously disappeared?"

Audrey jerked her head away, her lips pressed in a thin line. Harm watched the exchange, dismayed by the unbridled bitterness he sensed between his daughter and the man who had raised her. His anger stirred.

"Leave her alone, Thanh. It's me you should be mad at."

The other man shook his head. "You haven't changed at all—still trying to tell me what I should do."

Harm winced at that. The accusation held more than a little truth.

Thanh went on, heedless of his reaction. "You should have spent more time telling yourself what _you_ should do." His dark eyes bored into Harm's as his voice dropped to a near whisper. "Lin was never the same after you left." 

Harm's anger crumbled under a weight of guilt. What right did he have to judge Thanh's actions? 

"I know I made her life very difficult." He cleared his throat, pushing the thoughts away with determination. "But that isn't why I wanted to see you."

Thanh's hurt disappeared behind an impassive shield. "I can't imagine why you might want to see me, Harm. I certainly did not want to see you."

Harm ground his teeth in silent frustration but held onto his temper. He hadn't really expected Thanh to make this easy. But it was something Harm owed him, and so he would do it whether the other man appreciated it or not. And whether Thanh had deliberately kept his daughter from him or not.

"I wanted to thank you... for taking care of Audrey."

Thanh's gaze snapped to his, full of surprise, which was quickly veiled. He glanced at Audrey. "I would not abandon my sister's daughter."

Harm forced himself to ignore the implication that _he_ would—and had—done exactly that. Conjuring a tight-lipped smile, he decided to escape before he let his emotions get the better of him. "I hope the surgery goes well, Thanh." 

Without waiting for a response, he turned and left the room. To his surprise, Audrey followed on his heels, nearly pushing past him in her eagerness to leave. Once the door had thumped shut behind them, she strode several paces away then stopped abruptly. She rocked back on her heels, arms crossed in a gesture he'd seen Mac use when she was fighting her emotions.

Harm kept his distance, watching her in concern. "Audrey?"

She sucked in a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob. "I have to get out of here. Nothing—" She shot him a dagger-like glance. "Nothing makes sense any more."

Nodding, he fished out the keys to his rental car. Since they were staying in the same hotel, they'd driven to the hospital together. "Sure. We can go wherever you want." He tried to keep his tone casual.

Audrey turned, but didn't look at him. She seemed to be considering. Eventually, she held out one hand. "I'm driving."

Harm surrendered the keys without comment. Audrey pocketed them, then turned and headed toward the elevators. He fell in step beside her, wanting to be certain she wouldn't take off without him. That didn't seem to be her intention, though. Audrey stared straight ahead as she walked, and though she didn't acknowledge him she also didn't try to evade him.

From the hospital, they drove west until the city abruptly gave way to farmland. They turned off of the two-lane road they were following, passing through a pair of arched gates into a beautiful glade filled with flowers and autumn-colored trees. Gray, weathered tombstones decorated the small graveyard, looking more stately than morbid beneath the bright Midwest sun.

Stomach lurching, Harm followed his daughter from the car. She made her way to an unassuming marker—a simple granite plaque lying flush with the ground—that read, _Le Thi Lin, 1965-1989_. There, her will seemed to desert her. She sank to the ground beside her mother's grave, folding up her long legs and resting her cheek on her knees.

Harm stood silently behind her, uncertain what to do. He wanted to go to her but was afraid of intruding when he really had no idea what she was thinking or feeling. The little marker kept drawing his attention, haunting him. Lin had died so terribly young. 

Grief crashed down on him without warning. He'd never even gotten to say goodbye to the sweet girl who had given him comfort in a time and place where there was so little to be found. How could he have known, that final morning, that when he left he would never be coming back?

Staggering under the weight of the past, he sat down opposite Audrey in the dry fall grass.

"Lin had the most beautiful laugh," he said, his voice roughened with emotion. He'd spoken more to himself than Audrey but she raised her head at his words. He caught her eye for a moment before dropping his gaze. "She was always smiling about something, and when she laughed... it was like the whole world lit up. I remember trying to translate every joke I'd ever heard, every comedy routine—" He shrugged and flashed her a self-deprecating grin. "Even the Three Stooges. Just to hear her laugh." In a world that had otherwise seemed to be made only of pain and loss, Le Lin had been a desperately needed oasis.

Audrey straightened in her seat, uncurling from her ball and folding her legs beneath her. She twisted her hands together in her lap as she moved, the fingers alternately spread and balled, as if she were carrying on a silent conversation in her mind.

"I guess you... liked her."

Harm stared at his daughter in surprise. "Of course I liked her." An alarming conclusion wormed its way into his consciousness. "Did I somehow give you the impression we hated each other?"

Audrey shook her head as she toyed with the grass beside her. "No. I guess I just thought it was—" She shrugged. "A mistake. Something you regretted doing."

Harm stared at the etched plaque that was all that remained of Lin. "I never regretted spending time with your mother," he finally said.

Audrey bit her lip. "Then why did you leave?" The question was sharp and filled with nameless accusation.

Harm closed his eyes against the images his memory supplied. Rifle shots rang in his ears, muted by the years but far from silenced. "I had to leave the country. The Vietnamese army had orders to kill me."

Audrey paused as if surprised by a legitimate answer. Harm couldn't contain the flash of hurt her reaction generated.

"What did you think? That I got tired of the jungle one day and told your mother 'So long, baby. It's been fun'?"

Her brown eyes jumped guiltily to his. Harm just shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

"Why does my uncle hate you so much then?" Audrey asked after a bit.

Harm shoved his hurt away. "Probably because the rest of his family liked us." At her questioning look he continued, "It was Lin and Thanh's father that let Colonel Stryker and me stay with them. He and his wife and Lin were all very pro-America. Thanh felt like we were interlopers. He didn't want us in his country, let alone his house."

Audrey tipped her head back to stare at the sky. She was quiet for so long that Harm began to worry, but finally she spoke.

"He told me my father didn't want me. After my mother died, I wanted to find you and he told me—" Her voice broke. "He asked me why anyone would want a halfbreed Vietnamese brat—"

Had Thanh been within reach, Harm might very well have killed him then and there. The raw pain in Audrey's voice tore his heart into shreds. In a single move he scooted over next to her and wrapped her in his arms. 

She burrowed against him as sobs wracked her slender frame. "Why did he say that?"

"I don't know, baby." Harm stroked her hair, wishing he knew how to take away her pain. "But he was wrong." Carefully he lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I would have loved to have had you."

A tiny smile touched her lips, but her eyes remained shadowed. "And Mom?"

Harm sighed softly, wondering what to tell her. "Do you want an honest answer?" he finally asked.

Audrey bit her lip but then nodded. 

"All right." Harm brushed his fingertips across her cheek. "I don't think I knew your mother long enough to even guess if we would have worked. But I... would have been willing to try." That much he would have been honor-bound to do. He regretted that that was all he could offer her, but it seemed to be enough.

Audrey wiped her eyes, her answering smile sincere, then snuggled up against him once more. Harm hooked his arms around her waist, content simply to hold her.


	31. 31

Chapter 31

Audrey reluctantly raised her head from her father's shoulder as a cool breeze picked up, ruffling her short hair.

"Better?" he asked gently. There was compassion in his eyes, but no pity, for which she was immensely thankful. Audrey marveled once again at how much her life had changed the day she'd met this man. 

She nodded. "I feel like we've missed so much."

"Shhh." He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "It doesn't matter."

Audrey stared into the blue eyes, so different from her own. She found a calm strength in them and clung to it gratefully. 

"I don't want to go back to the hospital." She was certain she sounded petulant, but how could she possibly explain the hard knot of resentment that twisted inside her whenever she had to deal with her uncle and his family. And now there was anger, too. Anger that she'd been lied to. Anger that someone else had made her decisions for her and stolen away the years she should have had with her father.

"You could show me the sights," he suggested, mouth crooking in a smile.

Audrey rolled her eyes skyward. "This is Kansas City. There's not much to see." Compared to D.C., her hometown was rather bland.

"There's got to be something. Right now, though, I'll settle for a restaurant. I'm starving."

Audrey's smile made her feel like her face was cracking, but she welcomed the sensation. "All right." She rose to her feet and offered her father a hand. He accepted, though he didn't pull very hard against her as he stood.

For a moment they stood together, staring down at her mother's gravestone, each lost in their own thoughts. 

"I wish you could have known her," Audrey finally said. No matter how hard she tried to accept the reality, her dream of a complete family, and more, happiness for her mother, remained as strong as ever.

Her father didn't answer, but one big hand rose to stroke her hair for a moment before falling away once again. Audrey closed her eyes. She wasn't sure what was worse—that her mother had been so unhappy, or that she hadn't been willing to search for the happiness she lacked.

Sighing softly, she turned to retrace her path toward the car. Her father came with her, his heavier steps crunching through the fallen leaves beside her.

"You know, I just realized something," he said as they stepped onto pavement. "I don't know your Vietnamese name."

Audrey stopped short, startled. Many Asians took American-style names when they came to the U.S. because their own were often difficult for Americans to pronounce. It had never occurred to her that he would assume she had done the same.

"I don't have one." She turned to face him. "My full name is Le Quy Audrey." The combination sounded a little odd to both Vietnamese and American ears, which was why she rarely used her middle name, and she shrugged at her father's look. "Mom named me Audrey after Audrey Hepburn. It was the only American woman's name she knew at the time."

Her father turned to look back across the small graveyard, his eyes bleak. "I wonder what changed. I mean, it sounds like—when you were born, at least—my memory wasn't such a bad thing." 

Audrey was surprised by the depth of hurt in his voice. 

"I don't know." Audrey crossed her arms. "I'm beginning to think I don't know anything about her." She hung her head, prodding a clump of stubborn grass that grew up from a crack in the cement with her toe. 

Her father's voice softened. "It's only been in the last few years that I've really been able to see and understand who my parents were when I was younger. A big chunk of it was just this week, in fact." She glanced up at him and he shrugged. "My mother and I have never communicated very well."

"Oh." Audrey wasn't sure what to say. Somewhere in the back of her heart a little knife twisted. Rationally, perhaps, she understood that her grandmother's refusal to have anything to do with her had little to do with her and everything to do with the man standing before her. But that didn't soften the rejection. Even Patricia Burnett's voice on the phone had been chill and distant once she realized who she was talking to.

Audrey bit her lip and forced herself to continue. "Did it... help?" 

Her father's answer was a snort. "Yeah, I guess so. Sort of in the way a root canal helps."

Audrey grinned at his comparison, but the smile died almost before it appeared. Her father caught her eyes, his expression mournful and serious. 

"Listen, baby... I can't tell you why your mom made the choices she did. But I can promise I'll always be there to help you try to make sense of them—and my choices, too—if you need me to."

Nodding, she closed the distance between them and was immediately taken into his arms. He hugged her tight, then stepped back, shaking himself as if to break the mood. "You ready for some lunch?" he asked with only a hint of forced levity.

Audrey was more than happy to switch to an impersonal topic. "Sure." She dug the car keys out of her pocket.

"Oh no. I'm driving this time," her father insisted with a sudden grin. "_You_ drive like you think you're a fighter pilot or something."

Audrey laughed. "Well, you drive like a little old granny." But she turned the keys over.

"I have a spotless driving record, I'll have you know."

She just smiled at him as they got into the car. Following her directions, they meandered into the city. The Plaza called out to her for some reason, with its streetfront shops and horse-drawn carriages. At Christmas, the place became a wonderland of lights, full of magic and mystery. The lights wouldn't be out yet since it was only September, but it was still a nice place to wander and talk. And eat, she reminded herself. 

They found a nice little bistro next to an artsy ceramics shop and spent an hour over their calzones, just talking and enjoying the time together. The mood stayed light and after lunch, they walked the Plaza. The shops all had large display windows, and they often stopped to admire something or other. Well, Audrey amended to herself, _she_ often stopped to admire whatever had caught her attention. Her father took everything in with interest, but gave away little of his reactions.

Until they came to a jeweler's, that is. Being the true, blue female she was, Audrey stepped close to the window, mesmerized by the sparkling display of diamonds and gold. It wasn't until she was ready to move on that she realized her father was still there, staring intently at a diamond-studded necklace. Two sturdy gold chain links spanned the distance between each setting, giving the piece a sense of strength despite the nature of its components.

"Mac would love that," she commented, keeping her eyes on the necklace in question.

He glanced at her. "I wasn't thinking about Mac." A shadow of a smile lit his face. "I already have a diamond for her." While Audrey tried to absorb the enigmatic statement, he gestured toward the shop's door. "Come on."

She followed without protest, still mulling the possible implications. While she watched, her father spoke with the sales assistant about the necklace in the window. The woman, an older lady who was probably the owner of the shop, spread out a piece of black velvet then brought the necklace out, laying on the soft surface. Audrey inched closer despite herself.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"It's gorgeous," she breathed, her eyes roaming the necklace's length. She hardly dared hope it was meant for her. Her life had never included indulgences—her aunt and uncle had not been inclined to spoil her, and her salary at the Academy covered only the basics. She was used to scrimping and saving just to go out to an occasional movie or buy herself a new novel. Something like this was beyond her experience.

"It reminds me of you." She saw him nod to the proprietor and her answering smile. Then he carefully picked the necklace up by the ends. "Turn around."

"You can't—I mean, it must cost a fortune—" Audrey's body obeyed, even as she voiced the protest. 

"Only a small one." The links settled against her skin, their touch initially cold until her body heat warmed them. "But this is well worth it. _You're_ worth it." She felt him fasten the clasp, and her fingers rose of their own accord to settle the necklace in its proper place just below the hollow of her throat. Tears pricked her eyes.

The proprietor handed Audrey an old-fashioned hand mirror in a silver frame. She hardly noticed the antique as she studied her father's gift. As she tipped the mirror, she found his face over her shoulder and their eyes met. 

"I—I don't know what to say."

The blue eyes dove into hers. "Just say you like it."

The mirror clattered onto the counter as she spun to face him. Throwing her arms around his neck, she hugged him fiercely. "I _love_ it."

He laughed, returning the embrace. "I'm glad. I just want you to know how special you are to me."

With her face buried in his shoulder and his strong arms wrapped around her, Audrey did. She hugged him for another moment, then stepped back.

"Are you really going to ask Mac to marry you?"

The question earned her one of his pointed stares. "Caught that, did you?"

"Yeah..." She let the word trail off as he turned to pay the saleswoman. She managed not to peek at the dollar amount, figuring it was probably better—and certainly more respectful of the gift—not to know.

They left the shop a minute later, and as they passed the display mannequin now emptied of its necklace, Audrey had to smile. She hooked her arm through her father's, amazed at how much brighter the world had suddenly become. 

"So," she began again after they'd walked a ways. "When's the big day?"

He chuckled, sounding a bit strained. "You're not going to let go of this, are you?"

"Nope."

His expression turned solemn. "I don't know. We have an... agreement, sort of, about the timing." He stared straight ahead. "It's a little too far in the future for my liking at this point, but I'm not sure how wise it would be to disturb things."

Audrey sighed theatrically and shook her head. "You two are so weird." 

They walked in silence for a bit, but then he paused.

"Does it bother you—Mac and I?"

Audrey had half been expecting the question, but she still wasn't sure how to answer. "Not as much as it used to," she finally said. "I know she loves you, and I want you to be happy." She couldn't quite meet his eyes. "I guess maybe I'll always wish things could have been different, but..." She shrugged helplessly. 

He nodded. "I know."

Audrey smiled as they turned to start walking again. "Hey, Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Can I have a little sister?"

He nearly choked on a laugh. "You're terrible," he told her once he'd recovered his poise. 

She just grinned at him. Her misgivings were fading, and whatever remained she would do her best to work out. It might not be the family of her dreams but it was real, and that made it worth fighting for.


	32. 32

Chapter 32

By the time Harm deplaned at Dulles on Sunday night, he was utterly exhausted. Thanh had come through his surgery with flying colors, which hadn't surprised him at all. Audrey's uncle was both too stubborn and too bitter to be taken out that easily.

__

And who's to blame for that? Harm wondered as he made his way through the security checkpoint. How much was he really responsible for? It would be easy to assume responsibility for everything—his mother's guilt, Lin's misery and death, Thanh's bitterness, Audrey's pain. But how much of it truly belonged on his shoulders? 

"Hey, Harm!"

He stopped short at the sound of a familiar voice behind him. Turning, he saw Mac, dressed in casual slacks and a sweater. She had her arms crossed over her breasts, and was smiling at him in an odd sort of way.

"You walked right by me, sailor."

For a moment, Harm could only stare. He'd been expecting Mac to pick him up, but the sight of her—looking so warm and welcoming—took his breath away. Without a word, he stepped forward and scooped her up in a fierce hug. The scent of her hair filled his nostrils, loosening the tight band around his chest.

"I missed you," he breathed against her neck and felt her arms tighten.

They stood like that for several minutes, earning numerous smiles from the people who stepped around them. Mac looked up at him when he finally released her, her expression sympathetic.

"You want to talk about it?" she asked, snaking one hand upward to brush his temple.

Harm caught her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist before twining his fingers with hers. The thought alone made his gut twist with nausea, but this was Mac—Mac, who understood him at a frighteningly deep level, and who might be able to help him make sense of everything. 

"Maybe." He shrugged. "I don't know."

She nodded her understanding. Hand in hand, they walked toward baggage claim. As they waited for Harm's luggage to appear on the carousel, Mac kept up a light, one-sided conversation, filling him in on the last couple of days at the office and the miniscule details of her weekend. Harm appreciated her effort, and the fact that she was purposely allowing him to answer her in monosyllables or not at all. His thoughts continued to turn beneath the dull patina—a churning tumult he was too tired to address and too guilty to let go of.

After collecting his bags, they headed for the parking garage. Harm slid into the passenger side of Mac's corvette with a sigh and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

"So how is Chuck DePalma doing these days?" Mac asked as they got on the highway.

Harm uttered a snort. "I didn't kill him."

She chuckled. "I'm not going to ask if he gave you cause to want to. That man can't help but be aggravating."

Harm reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose as the dull throbbing behind his eyes intensified. "He brought my mother to the interview."

Mac was silent for a moment. Then, "Did she stay?"

"Yeah. They interviewed her."

"That had to be hard." Compassion softened her voice and gave it a throaty edge that, in other circumstances, he would have found incredibly enticing.

"It was." He forced his eyes open, blinking against the harsh reflection of streetlights running down the windshield. "We talked, a little... about me going to Vietnam, some other stuff."

"Did that help resolve things?" Mac glanced at him before returning her gaze to the road. He knew she was picking her words carefully, trying not to pressure him.

Harm stared out the window. "I think so. I understand now why she resents my going there so much, and she understands why I had to do it." 

"It sounds like it was a step in the right direction, then."

He nodded and they lapsed into silence for the rest of the trip to his apartment, which was fine with Harm. Mac's company was soothing, her presence alone bringing a much-needed sense of relief. He'd been doing his best to be strong—first for his mother, then for Audrey—and it was nice to know he had someone to back him up now, who could, and would, take up whatever he couldn't handle. He could let his guard down a little.

Mac helped him carry his luggage up to the apartment, then busied herself in the kitchen as he collapsed on the couch. Propping his feet on the coffee table, he picked up the remote and started some music—a light jazz he'd had on the day before he left for San Diego. The music didn't really fit his mood, but he was too tired to get up to change the CD.

Mac emerged a few minutes later with a steaming mug of tea in either hand. She gave one to Harm before settling beside him with her own.

"How is Audrey's uncle?" she asked, taking a sip. He'd called briefly on Friday to let her know of his change in plans, but had kept the conversation to a minimum. Hopefully, he hadn't hurt her feelings in the process, but he'd felt like he was being pulled in too many emotional directions already to want to talk. Now, however...

He stared down at the mug cradled in his hands. "He came through the surgery fine. The doctors think he'll make a full recovery."

He was certain Mac could hear the emotions bubbling just underneath the surface of his words. Harm wasn't a man who hated easily—Clark Palmer and Charlie Lewis were probably the only people in the world who fell into that category for him—but it was hard not to hate Thanh. For keeping Audrey from him, and for the pain and insecurity he saw in his daughter's eyes whenever he looked. And yet, he couldn't help but wonder if Thanh hadn't done his best for his family, however poor that might have been. 

Taking a deep breath, he turned to Mac. "Can I ask you something?"

She nodded, a single vertical line drawn between her brows. "Sure."

"What would you have done if you'd ended up pregnant when you were fifteen?"

Mac's eyebrows arched in surprise at the question, but her expression quickly turned reflective as she considered. 

"Are you looking for some kind of insight into what Audrey's mother might have thought?"

He nodded without meeting her eyes.

"That's a... tough question, Harm. Are you sure you really want to know?"

He nodded again with as much certainty as he could manage, this time turning his head to watch her.

Gaze distant, Mac nibbled on her bottom lip, her fingers idly tracing the mouth of her cup. "I think, if I'd gotten pregnant and Eddie had just up and disappeared on me... I don't know. It would be hard not to feel abandoned and to blame him... or maybe the baby... for it. Although, to be honest, there's a big difference between having a guy leave you, not knowing you were pregnant, and him leaving you _because_ you're pregnant. But still, I would have been scared to death—" She broke off and shook her head. "I'm not sure I'm the one to be asking. My background isn't much like Lin's—my baby would probably have been born with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and been taken away by Child Services." She shrugged, grimacing. "From what Audrey told me it sounded like her mother loved her and took good care of her." 

Harm felt cold all the way through. "Thanh said she was never the same after I left." He closed his eyes, the sting of tears painfully hot behind his eyelids. "I don't know if that's my fault or if it was hers for not going on with her life." He turned to look at the woman beside him as the feelings he'd kept pent up for the last few days boiled over. "How was I supposed to know I meant that much to her, Mac?" The violence of his emotions propelled him off the couch. He shoved his mug onto the table, sloshing tea over the sides, and jumped to his feet. "I don't even know if I did. _She_ was the one who—" He ran a hand through his hair in distress as the memories swelled. "I was still pretty wrecked from watching Jin die. I wasn't looking for... anything, really. If she hadn't climbed into my bed that night, I don't think I would have—And I don't know if she... felt sorry for me, or was just curious, or if it was something else." He spread his arms helplessly. "How did I totally destroy her life, Mac?"

Setting her tea aside, Mac rose to her feet, her expression decisive. "You didn't." She crossed the short distance to him and laid a hand flat against his chest. "Listen to me, Harm." Her voice compelled him to meet her gaze. The brown eyes bored into him, gentle but unyielding. "If Eddie had gotten me pregnant way back when, he would have been responsible for adding a challenge to my life and that's all. It wouldn't have made me any less responsible for the choices _I_ made. No matter what happens, I'm still the only person who can determine what my life is going to be." As she spoke, her chin came up. Harm could literally see the conviction taking hold of her. Her dark eyes flashed. "The fact that my father was a drunk isn't an excuse for me to be one. The fact that my mother abandoned her family doesn't make it all right for me to do that to my own someday." She smoothed his shirt with her hands. "Lin made her own choices, whatever her reasons. You don't have to take responsibility for them, or even understand them. She was her own person."

Harm slowly shook his head, awed once again by the strength Mac carried at her core. "You're amazing, did you know that?" 

She flushed, ducking her head. "Not really—"

Harm silenced her with a kiss. He intended it to be nothing more than a means of cutting off her self-abasement, but he hadn't realized just how near the edge he was. The touch of her lips went through him like a lightning bolt. She tipped her head up, surrendering to the kiss, and the moment her mouth opened beneath his, he lost control. In a single, savage movement, he crushed her against him. One hand knotted tightly in her hair as coherent thought went up in an incendiary flash. Nothing existed except the taste of her lips and the raw, desperate need raging inside him. Mac met him, the play of her lean muscles against him intoxicating in a new and powerful way. He forced her head back, gaining access to the line of her neck, the delicious hollow of her throat. He tasted each and felt her skin warm beneath his tongue. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle.

"Harm... no." Her voice was little more than a gasp.

It was probably the only word that could have penetrated his passion-haze, and it did. Harm felt the world return, wrapping around him like an icy breeze. He paused, and Mac relaxed her claw-like grip, sliding her palms down the plane of his chest. She remained pliant in his arms, her body flush with his and her pulse hammering beneath his lips where they rested against her throat.

Trembling, he forced himself to loosen his hold, but couldn't let go entirely. His need, both physical and emotional, ran too deep. It crushed his pride, demolished any pretense he had of being a gentleman. He groaned as he traced the hot course of her pulse with his mouth. "Please, Sarah." 

She gasped, her fingers tightening convulsively. "Not... like this, Harm. You would regret it tomorrow... and maybe... so would I." Mac straightened slowly, pulling away until she could meet his eyes. Her dark eyes were limpid, but the desire he saw there had been caged. 

The moment came undone and left Harm reeling. His entire body felt like it was vibrating, anger and embarrassment mixing with the other emotions raging inside him. He let go abruptly and turned away. Hands on hips, he stared at the ground as he fought to get a handle on himself.

Mac spoke from behind him. "Ironically, this is the first time I've ever said no to a man I... want." Her voice quavered, demonstrating a vulnerability her eyes had not. "I'm sorry my timing on this sucks so much."

The awkward apology snapped his anger in half. Mac had said no—without hedging, without compromise—just a plain refusal that had no doubt taken every ounce of courage she possessed in the face of her own personal demons. But the added dimension of emotional whiplash was more than he could take.

Harm sank onto the couch and buried his head in his hands. He could feel laughter bubbling up inside him, born partly of admiration, but the rest of simple hysteria. His emotional control—long since shredded beyond recognition—couldn't contain it, and so he laughed in hoarse, broken bursts until tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes and his chest ached with every breath.

Eventually the laughter faded. Utterly drained, he just sat there, lost in a dull, disassociative state. At some point he felt Mac's weight settle on the cushion beside him. She touched him hesitantly, smoothing his hair like one might comfort a child.

"I'm so sorry, Mac." It was all he could think of to say to her.

"Shhh. There's nothing to be sorry for." Her fingers continued to comb through his hair, the touch angel soft.

He couldn't summon the energy to argue. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." The hint of mischief in her voice surprised him so much that he cracked an eye to look at her. Mac's hair fell in tangled disarray around her face. Her lips were puffy, her lipstick a memory. Angry red marks tracked across the skin of her neck, a few dark enough to be labeled purple. 

She took in his appalled survey, one eyebrow arching in amusement. "I'm willing to let the hickeys above the neckline go... this time. But if the Admiral—or anyone else, for that matter—says anything tomorrow, I'm laying the blame squarely at your feet."

He snorted, amused despite himself. "Fair enough."

She said nothing else for a moment, and his world began to gray again. He closed his eyes.

"You really should lay down, Harm. You're exhausted." Her voice dragged him back from the void.

"Yeah." He didn't protest her hand beneath his elbow or her arm about his waist as she helped him stand. His vision wavered, and it took every ounce of energy he had to put one foot in front of the next as they made their way to the bedroom. Once there, Harm stripped off his jeans without thought for modesty and crawled between the sheets. He felt Mac draw the blanket up over him, tucking it in with gentle precision. He wanted to let go, to plummet into the darkness hovering just out of reach, but there was one question that kept running through his mind, demanding an answer.

"Mac?"

"Yes, Harm?"

"Why was tonight different?" At any other time in their seven years of acquaintance, had he shown even a tenth of the interest in her, physically, that he had tonight she would have thrown herself into his arms with abandon, regardless of consequences. Of that he was almost certain. And though he was immensely grateful to her for reining in what he could not, still, it left the question, why?

Mac settled on the edge of the bed, toying restlessly with the edge of the blanket. "Ever since we started dating, I think I've been holding onto some resentment—o.k., insecurity—about this whole no-sex thing. Like maybe there was something wrong with me that kept you from wanting to be with me." 

Harm's eyes flew open as he struggled to sit up. "You don't believe that, do you?" he asked in alarm.

She shook her head, her smile bittersweet. "In my head—never. In my heart...?" She shrugged eloquently. "I guess I always thought it was kind of ridiculous to hold back when we know we want to be together. I mean, we would never have started down this road if either of us thought it was going to be some short-lived thing... so how could it possibly hurt? Sex ought to make our relationship better, right?" 

She sighed. "But tonight... I don't know. Caught up in the moment, I can't think of anything I've ever wanted more than to make love to you—" Her gaze turned heated, searing him all over again. "But then I realized that if I gave in tonight, I would always have doubts about us. How could I have total faith in our relationship if we started that part of it, in essence, by compromising you and cheapening me?"

Harm winced at her analysis, but she reached over to clasp his hands with her own, squeezing tightly. "No guilt trips tonight, Harm," she warned him sternly. "We both deserve better than that—something you've been trying to impress on me for I don't know how long. And I'm finally getting it."

She looked down at their joined hands. "I haven't really had much chance to test how hard-to-get I really believe I deserve to be—" Her words recalled an earlier conversation, making him smile. "But I've been thinking about it a lot. And as absolutely terrifying as it was, right now I respect myself for doing what I think was right by saying no, and I respect you for stopping and not being mad at me, and I'm... rambling, really, when I should be letting you sleep..." She trailed off sheepishly.

Harm hadn't thought it possible to fall even more deeply in love with the woman in front of him, but in that moment he knew he'd been wrong. A bit hesitant, he leaned forward to kiss her. This time the expression was sweet, but still soul-deep.

He eventually pulled back. Mac smiled as her eyelids fluttered open.

"I love you," she told him softly, her gaze rich and full of promise.

His heart unexpectedly soared. "That's the first time you've said that."

"I know." She bit her lip, but her gaze didn't waver. "I didn't want to say it until I was sure I could back up the words with everything I am."

He blinked, floored by her implication. "And now you're certain?"

"Yes."

For a moment they simply stared at each other. Then Harm reached up to brush her cheek with his fingertips. "I love you, too, Sarah Mackenzie." The crazy tumult—the hurt and anguish—of the past days suddenly seemed worthwhile, if it could bring them to this point.

Mac's answering smile was brilliant. "Good. And now that we've gotten that straightened out, _you_ need to get some sleep. That's an order."

"Yes, ma'am." He obediently lay back down, his eyelids sinking shut against his own volition.

He was asleep before Mac had finished tucking him in.


	33. 33

Chapter 33

Harm sat in his office, oblivious to the everyday hustle and bustle of the bullpen just beyond his doorway. He leaned his elbows on the desk, the phone handset in one hand, fingers of the other poised over the buttons. It had been almost two weeks since the interview with DePalma—two weeks in which his memories of Vietnam had become a near-constant backdrop to his everyday thoughts. It had gotten so bad that at one point he'd accidentally answered a casual question from his CO in Vietnamese, causing the ex-SEAL to do a double take.

Harm stabbed the final number on the phone and put the handset to his ear. He listened to hollow-sounding ring, then a click, and a familiar voice came on the line.

"Clayton Webb."

"Clay, it's Harm." He sat back in his chair, swiveling to look out the window. Autumn's red-orange glory was now fading. The trees had sloughed the last of their leaves and the air had taken on a decidedly cold bite.

"Well, hello, Harm. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?" Clay's inimitable sarcasm made the other man smile. It was good to know some things would never change.

"I need a favor."

Clay groaned. "I should have known. Whose neck are you trying to save now?"

"No one's." Harm turned back to his desk, picking up a pencil. He tapped the point against his blotter, counterpoint to his thoughts. "It's... personal."

"Everything's personal with you, Harm." He sighed. "All right, let me have it."

Harm braced himself against a deluge of memories. "Late August, 1980. A Vietnamese Army installation along the Mekong, near the border with Cambodia—There was an incident involving Americans in which a number of Vietnamese soldiers were killed. The agency handled the extraction. Agent in charge was named Clausson."

"Who told you all this?" Clay sounded suspicious.

"If you can find the file on the incident, you'll know. If you can't, the question will be moot."

There was a long pause. Then, "Just how much trouble is this going to get me into?" Clay wanted to know.

Harm's tapping pencil stilled. "Don't go that far, Clay. There's nothing riding on it except some peace of mind."

"Uh... o.k." Clay sounded like he didn't quite believe his ears. "Well, I've got to hand it to you, Rabb. You certainly know how to pique a guy's curiosity."

Harm grinned. "Call me when you find something."

"Right." Clay hung up.

Harm set the phone down in the cradle, feeling just a little bit better. He'd avoided looking for the answers to this particular question for almost twenty-three years, but now he wanted to know. Maybe then he would be able to make peace with the decisions he'd made that day and put the memories to rest at last.

"Was that Webb?" 

Harm looked up in surprise at the voice from his doorway. Mac leaned against the doorframe, watching him. 

He looked away quickly. "Yeah. I was asking him to look into something for me." Ever since that night in his apartment, Harm had been unable to completely relax around Mac. It wasn't that there was anything truly _wrong_ between them, but... He bit back a sigh. _But coming within a hairsbreadth of the unforgivable just makes things that much harder._ It had shaken his own convictions, for certain, and, no matter what Mac claimed, had probably damaged her trust in him as well.

She arched an eyebrow. "Is this 'something' that's liable to get one or both of us into trouble?"

Harm shook his head. "No, nothing like that." He glanced down at the paperwork covering his desk, wishing he could just brush her off. It was a petty desire—to shut her out, push her away—and one he tried to fight down whenever he saw it. Not always with success, though.

He heard his office door click shut.

"Harm."

Her tone brooked no arguments, and Harm sighed.

"It's about Vietnam." He risked a glance at her.

Mac's expression softened. She came forward, settling on the corner of his desk. The action made her skirt ride up to mid-thigh, which, from the way the corner of her mouth lifted, she was well aware of.

Harm felt some of his grim mood lift. "Not fair, Marine."

"Vee have vays of making you talk," she said in her best evil scientist voice.

Smiling despite himself, Harm leaned back in his chair. 

Mac sobered. "Really, Harm. Is this what's been eating at you since you got back?"

He sighed. "Maybe—partly."

Her answer was an eloquent silence. He swiveled his chair to look out the window, wishing he knew how to explain.

"So, does the other part have something to do with what happened... between us?"

Harm stared outside at the skeletal trees lining the parking lot without answering. A moment later, he felt Mac's knuckles brush lightly along his jaw before her hand fell to his shoulder.

"Harm, I'm not mad at you... and I'm not afraid of you. Don't you think that—if I'd had any fear at all for my safety—I would have fought back?"

True to form, she'd hit the issue dead center, maybe without even realizing it.

"I don't know, Mac," he answered slowly. "Would you?" He risked a glance up at her and saw her expression falter.

She bit her lip. "Are you asking that because I haven't exactly distinguished myself with all of the domineering and/or abusive men who've passed through my life?" Her voice held a harsh edge.

"Yeah, I guess I am." He slowly shook his head. "The idea that we might have that kind of dynamic in our relationship just... makes me sick." Harm knew he was passionate, that he often pushed the edge of the envelope in a lot of arenas. He didn't honestly believe he was abusive, but the idea that Mac might not act to safeguard herself if he ever _did_ cross the line—and more, that something about their relationship might erode her beautiful, feisty spirit—frightened him.

Mac rubbed one hand along the outside of her other arm, looking uncomfortable. "I don't have any good answers for that," she admitted after a short pause. "I don't believe it's true, but I also don't know any way to prove that to you." Once again she touched his face and he turned to look up at her. "Our relationship has always been one of the most positive influences in my life, Harm. I'm a better person for having known you all these years, and I'd... like to think, at least... that I've done the same for you."

He reached up to catch her hand, heedless of who might be watching them through his office windows, and squeezed her fingers. "You have."

She offered him a soft smile. "Then I don't see any reason to believe the trend is going to change." Her expression firmed. She released his hand and pointed a finger at his chest. "You just need to stop obsessing over one little bit of _consensual_ roughness."

Harm knew she was right, at least on the broad strokes. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It still wasn't appropriate."

Mac wrinkled her nose in an impish grin before slipping off the edge of his desk. She shook her head. "Harm, what are you going to do if it turns out I like it rough? Hmm?" Throwing him a sultry look over her shoulder, she sashayed toward the door.

Harm recovered after a stunned moment. "Do you?" he managed to ask as her hand closed on the doorknob.

She laughed. "I'm not telling." Her dark eyes sparked with mischief as she glanced back at him. "I guess you'll just have to find out for yourself."

Harm sank back in his chair as she left, unable to help his embarrassed laughter. _Underestimated her again, didn't you, Hammer?_ At that moment, he had no idea why he'd ever worried about Mac being able to hold her own in their relationship. If he wasn't careful, _he _was going to be the one struggling to keep up. 

He spent an entertaining minute imagining Mac in the dominatrix role—complete with skimpy black leather outfit and bullwhip—before dismissing the fantasy as absurd. It might make for an entertaining Halloween costume, though.

Chuckling to himself, he shook his head and went back to work.

#

Three days later, Harm met Clay for lunch at a posh restaurant favored by the CIA agent. Clay had a file folder next to his plate, and Harm's stomach clenched as he took his seat.

"Is that it?"

"And hello to you, too, Harm."

Harm flashed his friend a grin. Clay was predictable in his own way. "Hello, Clay." He nodded to the folder, sobering once again. "Is that it?"

Clay rested one hand on the folder, watching him over the table's centerpiece. His gaze narrowed. "Until I got a hold of this, I thought I knew most of what there was to know about you."

"Surprise." 

Shaking his head, Clay handed the file over. Harm hesitated just a moment before opening it. The first thing to greet his eyes was a blurry aerial photo. He recognized the scatter of building filling the nondescript jungle clearing—his own vantage hadn't been as high, but had given him a good view of the entire area. He remembered the bodies, too. Four in a cluster at one end of the compound, two others, widely separated.

"How long after was this taken?" he asked, his eyes still locked on the image.

"Less than an hour."

That made Harm pause. "How did we get assets in place so quickly?" He'd still been down in those jungles, desperately trying to outrun the Vietnamese while half-carrying Stryker, who'd taken a bullet to the leg.

"_We_ didn't. The Russians did." Clay shrugged, grinning. "But we've always been good at stealing other people's intel."

Harm set the photo aside and began looking through the rest of the file. Much of it was comprised of the after-action report and his own debriefing—done in the back of a C-141A somewhere over the Pacific. But he eventually found what he was looking for. The installation had indeed been the centralized prisoner-of-war records repository for the newly unified Vietnam. Whatever information the Vietnamese had possessed about the fate of American POWs, it had been there.

__

And if it hadn't been for me, we would have gotten it. Trembling ever so slightly, Harm closed the folder and handed it back to Webb.

Clay watched him without expression. "If I've done my math right, your father was killed just about four months after this. Even if you'd come back with proof he was in the Soviet Union, it probably wouldn't have saved him. The Russians themselves didn't know where he was at that point."

"I know."

Clay shook his head with a snort. "Jack Keeter told me once that you'd mellowed with age. I didn't believe him then, but, good grief, Harm—what were you _doing_ over there in the first place?"

Harm met his gaze, then shrugged ruefully. "Setting the stage for the rest of my life."


	34. 34

Chapter 34

Mac stood in the main terminal at Dulles airport, watching as people walked past her. Harriet stood next to her, blond head swiveling as she searched up and down the long, broad area.

"There it is! I told you I smelled Starbucks." Harriet grabbed her friend's arm, dragging her a step in the proper direction.

Mac chuckled at her antics. "Must be new. I don't remember a Starbucks on this end." She matched her stride to the shorter woman's as they made their way toward the coffee shop. They got into line behind a couple of travelers and Mac got out her purse.

"My treat, Harriet. It's the least I can do after dragging you off to the airport."

Harriet shook her head. "It's fine, ma'am. We're still having a night out, aren't we?" She looked around. "How long did you say the commander's flight was delayed?"

Mac sighed. "Another forty minutes, last I checked." Harm had wrapped up his investigation a day early and changed his flight home. He'd offered to catch a cab rather than take her away from her plans, an offer she was beginning to wish she'd taken him up on. Bad weather over the Midwest had delayed the flight, which she hadn't learned until she and Harriet reached the airport. It was beginning to look like they'd be spending the entire evening there, waiting for Harm's flight to arrive.

Telling herself to make the best of it, she ordered a mocha for herself and a chai latte for Harriet, then the two women found a table off toward the edge of the cramped space. 

"Ahhh." Harriet took a sip of her drink. "I love these things."

"You have an unhealthy attachment to all things Starbucks, Lieutenant."

Harriet laughed, unperturbed, and changed the subject. "So, how are things going with you and Harm?"

Mac had to smile. Harriet didn't mess around when it came to girl talk. "Pretty well," she allowed, feeling her cheeks heat. Harm seemed to have grown much more comfortable with touching her recently. It was as if she'd somehow convinced him that it was safe to loosen the reins on his self-control a little bit. But whether that was simply because she'd said 'No', or because she'd managed to convince him that she wouldn't fall apart if he was a smidgen less than the perfect gentleman... 

She shook herself out of her thoughts and shrugged at Harriet's questioning look. "Sorry."

"Oh, don't apologize, ma'am. I'm just glad to see you looking happy."

Mac chuckled, looking down. "We're getting there, anyway."

Harriet cocked her head. "Care to be a little more specific? Honestly, Bud and I were expecting a wedding invitation by now."

"Harriet! Harm and I have been dating for, what, five months?"

"So? Don't tell me you actually have doubts about whether he's the right guy." Harriet's face fell by degrees. "Do you?"

Mac shook her head quickly. "Oh, no. Not at all."

"Then... the commander?"

"Harriet!" She caught her friend's hand. "We're o.k. Really. We're just... taking it slow."

Harriet's eyebrows slowly rose as she sorted through all the possible interpretations of that statement. 

Mac watched her in amusement. "I can probably tell you to the day when he'll propose, and I assure you it's not going to be for a while yet."

Harriet blinked, looking perplexed. "Why not? If you don't mind my asking, of course."

Mac swirled her coffee in its cup before taking a sip. "It's all right." She sighed softly, sorting her thoughts. "I think... we've both needed the time. He needed to know that I'm willing to wait for him, and I've needed to become convinced that I'm worth waiting for." She flashed Harriet a bright smile. "So we're waiting."

Harriet didn't say anything for a moment. Her blue eyes studied Mac with piercing intensity. "That's good, Mac," she eventually said, with an air of finality that the Admiral himself wouldn't have dared contradict. "Every woman ought to be treated like a lady, but you really deserve it. More than most people I've met." The firm stare faltered as Harriet glanced away. "To tell the truth, it always made me mad to see you acting... cheap. You deserve so much more." Her gaze darted to Mac's, defiant and a little frightened.

Mac pressed her lips together in a thin line. "It's o.k.," she assured Harriet, despite how the word stung. "You're right." She sighed. "Most of my life... I've felt cheap. Like the Marine uniform and the law degree and the officer's code of ethics were all just pretty wrapping paper I was using to try to make myself look like a better person."

"But, Colonel, you're a wonderful person—"

Mac couldn't help an embarrassed laugh. "Thanks, Harriet."

"I mean it, Mac." Harriet stared at her with earnest seriousness. "You're strong and smart and compassionate and you'll do just about anything to help someone who needs it..."

For the first time in her life, Mac didn't feel an overwhelming desire to hide her face in shame at the praise. She met Harriet's gaze.

"I think the caliber of the people who are my friends says more than anything else about the kind of person I am," she returned matter-of-factly and had the satisfaction of seeing her friend blush. She raised her coffee in silent toast.

Harriet chuckled. "Well, shall we go see what the flight schedule is saying?"

#

"Sarah Mackenzie! I'm looking for Sarah Mackenzie!"

Mac looked around in surprise at the sound of an unfamiliar voice calling her name. She and Harriet had taken up station a little ways off to the side of the security checkpoint to wait for Harm, watching as intermittent throngs of people came through. Now, she craned her head to look for the source of the voice and was surprised to see a blond man in his mid-thirties—a businessman by the look of his rumpled suit and garment bag—approach. 

"Are you Sarah Mackenzie?" he asked with an engaging smile.

Uncertain, Mac nodded.

"Then this is for you." He produced a long-stemmed red rose from behind his back and extended it toward her.

"Uh..." Mac had no idea what to make of the entire encounter.

The businessman chuckled. "I'm also supposed to tell you that waiting is overrated."

"What?"

He laughed again, showing perfect, if slightly coffee stained teeth. "Waiting is overrated. You're supposed to know what it means."

Slowly, Mac reached out to take the rose. She sniffed it out of pure habit, meeting the man's eyes over the petals. "Thank you." She didn't know what else to say.

"You're welcome. Now, as much as I'd love to watch this all play out, I have an appointment to keep. It was nice meeting you, Ms. Mackenzie." He gave her a friendly nod, then he was gone.

A moment later, a round grandmotherly woman stepped up to her. She, too, held a red rose in her hand, which she extended toward Mac. "Here, dearie. This is for you."

Mac accepted the rose, suspicion rising as quickly as the heat in her cheeks. "Ma'am, did a tall, Navy commander happen to put you up to this?"

The woman winked. "Don't let him get away, dearie. That one's a keeper."

Beside Mac, Harriet started to giggle. Mac glanced at her as the unknown woman stepped aside.

"Not a word, Harriet," she warned, her lips twitching.

Harriet mimed turning a key in front of her own mouth, her eyes dancing.

The next person to bring her a rose was a young woman with bright pink streaks in her hair and a ring in her nose. She looked Mac over with grudging approval. A mother with two young children followed her. She handed Mac the rose with a quick smile and an apology as the baby in her arms grinned toothlessly, red petals clenched in either chubby fist. An older couple stepped up a moment later, each carrying another rose.

More people approached her, until Mac was shaking her head in a combination of laughter and disbelief. As the pile of roses in her arms grew larger, she began to search the oncoming stream of people, looking for a distinctive figure.

"I swear, Harriet, he conned an entire airplane full of people into helping him embarrass me."

"Actually, miss, it was only the front third or so. He didn't have enough roses for the entire flight."

Mac blinked in surprise at the uniformed man who materialized in front of her. It took her a moment to realize his uniform was that of an airline pilot. He was a bit shorter than Harm and about fifteen years older, but carried himself with the same kind of confidence she associated with her flyboy.

"And I don't think the commander is trying to embarrass you."

Mac accepted the rose the captain held out to her, smiling abashedly. "I know. Thank you." She indicated the flower in her hand.

He grinned, waving her off. "I'm always happy to help out a fellow Naval aviator."

With a wink, the captain walked over to join a gaggle of stewards and stewardesses from the same airline who waited with the growing crowd around Mac.

Three roses later, she spotted Harm. He strolled down the causeway like he didn't have a care in the world, the gold wings on his Class A's glinting in the overhead lighting. He carried his briefcase in one hand and a single long stemmed red rose in the other. His cover was tucked in the crook of his arm.

He slowed as he approached, his carefree expression settling into something more intense. His eyes met hers, seeming to spear straight through her.

Mac didn't let him have the first word. "Hey, sailor," she said when he was still a couple of steps away.

His smile appeared like magic. He flourished the rose, its wine-red color perfect against his navy blue lapels, then laid it on top of the huge bouquet she now held.

"Hello, Sarah." For a moment, his gaze flickered to the side and he inclined his head. "Harriet. I hope I haven't ruined your evening out."

Harriet laughed. "No, sir, I think you've made my entire day."

He turned his attention to the younger woman just long enough to wink. Then Mac lost herself in his gaze once again. 

"Are you ready for this?" Harm asked, his eyes laughing.

"That depends on what you're planning to do." Mac wasn't frightened, exactly. But she was still having trouble catching her breath.

His smile deepened. "Then I suggest you brace yourself, Marine."

As she watched, Harm set his briefcase down, balancing his cover atop it. But rather than straightening, he sank to one knee in front of her.

Mac's gasp was drowned out by Harriet's, but she couldn't spare any attention for the lieutenant. Her entire world consisted of Harm's face and the diamond ring he produced from somewhere on his person. She knew what was coming, and still the words sent her heart straight into the clouds.

"Sarah Mackenzie, will you marry me?"

The roses landed in a heap at her feet. "Yes." She mouthed the word more than said it because her voice refused to function. Harm understood well enough, however, and his grin grew huge. He stood and slipped the simple solitaire onto her finger.

At that moment, Mac couldn't have described the diamond ring she wore to save her life. Nor did she look at it now. There would be plenty of time for admiring later. Instead, she threw her arms around her sailor's neck and leaned into his kiss. Around them, the crowd of people—rose-bearing strangers, passersby, and one very excited Navy lieutenant—burst into applause.

Mac was laughing in a combination of joy and exhilaration as they separated. "'Waiting is overrated'?" she asked curiously, cocking one eyebrow at Harm.

He chuckled, looking down. "Yeah." His shrug was guileless. "I didn't want to wait another year and a half."

Mac reached up to cup his cheek, the diamond on her hand winking gently. "Neither did I." She let the weight of the moment, the depth of her feelings for this man, settle on her. "But I would have."

"I know." 


	35. 35

Chapter 35

"So when's the wedding?" Sturgis asked the next morning. He, Bud, Harriet, Jen and a few others had gathered around Mac to offer their congratulations and, in the women's case, to admire the ring she was more than happy to display.

Mac flashed the commander a surprised look. "He only asked me last night, Sturgis. We haven't exactly had time to set a date." Sturgis raised a challenging eyebrow, and Mac relented. "But... we talked about maybe a Christmas wedding."

"That doesn't give you much time to plan, ma'am," Jen said.

Mac shrugged. "We want to keep things simple." 

"Where is Harm, anyway?" Sturgis glanced around the bullpen.

"Running late, as always," She answered with a grin. She hadn't been able to resist calling him before she headed for work, only to wake him. She was looking forward to the days of doing so with a kiss rather than a telephone call. They had agreed not to mess with success, and Mac had been somewhat bemused to realize she was going to have herself an honest-to-goodness white wedding. The idea was strangely appealing—it smacked of the fairytale ending she had always dreamed of, but never really believed could happen to her. However, the decision had, in turn, prompted their desire to make the nuptials happen post haste. Waiting was going to get old in a big hurry.

"Is this JAG Ops or the Rotary Club?" Admiral Chegwidden's sharp voice cut through the noise in the bullpen. He walked toward the cluster of people surrounding Mac, a scowl darkening his features.

Instinctively, Mac snatched her hands behind her back like an errant schoolgirl. 

"Is there something I should know, Colonel?" The Admiral pinned her with a stern stare.

Mac straightened resolutely, letting her hands fall to her sides. "Yes, sir. Commander Rabb asked me to marry him." She kept her bearing professional with an effort.

The Admiral stared at her in surprise, a delighted smile softening his features for a moment before he buried the expression. "Am I to infer from this that you agreed to the commander's proposal?"

Mac gave up trying to hide her grin. "Yes, sir."

"Well then, congratulations to you both." He glanced around the bullpen, taking note of Harm's absence. "When Mr. Rabb arrives, why don't you two put yourselves on my schedule and we'll talk about where to go from here."

"Yes, sir," Mac answered again, this time with a little less enthusiasm. She knew it had to be this way, but she would still be sad to see their days together at JAG come to an end.

#

Later that afternoon, she and Harm sat in their usual places in front of Chegwidden's broad desk, waiting for him to speak.

He pulled off his reading glasses after a moment and regarded them. "Commander, Colonel... I'm sure this subject is one we've all thought about to some degree or other, so before I tell you what possible courses of action I see, why don't the two of you tell me what you're thinking." He laced his fingers together on the desktop.

With a quick glance in Mac's direction, Harm took the initiative. "We're open to pretty much anything, sir," he began. "Particularly given the short notice."

The Admiral raised his eyebrows. "I'd heard a Christmas date being tossed around."

"Well, December, anyway," Mac put in. 

"Two months doesn't give me much time to work something out." His gaze shifted to Harm and Mac's stomach tightened. "However, I do have one concrete possibility to lay on the table right now, which will probably require some time for consideration."

"What's that, sir?" Harm asked.

"Captain Johnson on the _Seahawk_ is losing his XO at the end of this cruise. He called me a couple of weeks ago to see if there might be any way to circumvent the normal channels to get you named for the position, Commander. I've done some checking and called in a few favors, and I believe we could make it happen."

Mac watched as her fiancée's eyes widened. "Me, sir? A carrier XO?" His gaze unfocused briefly. "I've never commanded anything larger than a flight of four."

The Admiral shrugged. "I don't think anyone would question your command ability, Harm, despite lack of experience." He sat back in his chair. "I realize this would be something of a hard right turn in your career path, but you would have plenty of opportunities for advancement." Unspoken was the fact that it was exactly the kind of position Harm could have ended up in had his ramp strike never happened.

It also meant he would spent at least six months out of every two years at sea. Mac wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that.

Chegwidden went on without giving them much time for reaction. "There's also the possibility of a Pentagon appointment for either of you." Once again his gaze fastened on Harm. "Or, I could inquire about finding you a full-time slot at Pax River, Commander, if you're interested."

After a moment, Harm shook his head. "There's not much of a future in flight test operations, sir."

"You'd get to fly more."

Harm shrugged, his gaze clear. "I fly enough now, sir."

Mac silently clasped her hands together in her lap. The reaction was the most powerful statement she'd ever seen of just how much Harm loved her.

A grudging smile of approval lit the Admiral's features. "All right."

"Sir?" Mac spoke up before the conversation could head in a new direction.

Chegwidden turned to her. "Yes, Colonel?"

"Is it possible that I might take a position in the judicial service?"

Harm gave her a surprised look. "You want to be a judge, Mac? I suppose, technically, it would work to put us in separate chains of command but it would still be complicated with me trying cases and you sitting on the bench."

Mac turned to face him. "I wasn't really thinking of it in that context. No matter what, I think the bench might be a good choice for me... us. I don't think it would be fair to try to raise children with you out on a carrier six months at a time and me bouncing across the globe as a JAG."

Expressions flitted across Harm's face. "You're assuming I'm going to take Captain Johnson up on his offer." She wasn't sure if the tone in his voice was defensive or just surprised.

Mac took a deep breath and locked gazes with him. "I think I'm going to _recommend_ that you take it. It's a incredible opportunity, Harm, and it won't come around again."

He slowly shook his head. "I'm not sure I want sea duty, especially now." His blue eyes were solemn. "Nor am I sure I'd want to give up practicing law."

"Who said anything about giving up law? A command position would almost guarantee you'd eventually rotate back here as JAG."

He was silent for a long moment, and she knew she'd made her point. "What about you, Mac? Your career is just as important as mine," he finally countered.

She smiled softly. "I love my job and I love being a Marine, but I'm also aware that I may decide I love being married and raising kids more. I don't want to prioritize my career too much when I'm not certain how important it's going to be to me a few years from now." 

Harm's startled expression was priceless and she had to laugh. "Don't worry, I'm not going all domestic on you."

"I'm glad." He winked, his high-wattage smile appearing like magic.

"Ahem." The Admiral cleared his throat, interrupting the banter before it could escalate. "Colonel, I'll consider your request. If the Commander ends up on the _Seahawk_, I imagine you'll want a transfer down to Norfolk, which I can most certainly arrange. Otherwise, since I'd hate to lose you as Chief of Staff, I may see if I can work things here to keep you from having to travel much. I can see how that would be necessary if you intend to start a family."

"Thank you, sir," Mac told him sincerely. "I'd love to stay if it can be arranged."

The Admiral looked them both over impartially. "Take some time to talk it over, and let me know what you want to do. I'll let you know of any other opportunities that cross my desk in the near future."

Recognizing an imminent dismissal, both officers rose. 

"We will, sir," Harm said. "And, Admiral... thank you. It has been an honor to serve under your command."

Mac could only nod in agreement.

Chegwidden paused, his expression softening. "I think the honor has been mine, Commander, Colonel. I could not have asked to serve with finer officers, and I wish you both all the happiness in the world." 

Mac swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. Undiluted praise from this man was rare. "Thank you, sir."

"You will let me know what we can do to help with the wedding preparations?" 

"Of course, sir," Harm assured him. 

The Admiral picked up his reading glasses, ending the personal moment. "Very good. Keep me apprised." 

#

Harm drew a deep, bracing breath and picked up the phone. He wasn't looking forward to this call, no matter how necessary—and no matter how much good he hoped would eventually come from it. He dialed his mother's number by heart and waited quietly while the phone rang on the other end. 

His mother picked up on the fourth ring. 

"Hi, Mom."

"Harm! It's good to hear your voice. How are the wedding plans coming, dear?"

Harm chuckled despite himself. Since giving his parents the good news that had been her first question every time they talked.

"Fine, as far as I know, Mom."

"As far as you know?"

He had to smile. "Yeah. Mac, Harriet and Chloe have the preparations well in hand. I've retained veto power, but that's about it."

"Have you used it?" His mother sounded both delighted and curious. It struck Harm that he hadn't heard her sounding so happy in a long time.

"Oh, a few times," he answered. "Mac wanted the bridesmaids' dresses to be green."

"What's wrong with green? It sounds lovely for a December wedding."

"Well, if it had been anything close to pine tree colored, sure. But Mac's a Marine, remember? She can't get away from olive-drab to save her life."

"Harm!"

He laughed. "I swear, Mom. Even Harriet thought it was awful." Of course, he was pretty certain Mac had been messing with them, but that only made it more amusing.

"So what color did you all end up agreeing on?" his mother asked when her laughter had faded.

"Red."

"Oh, that will be beautiful. I can't wait to see it."

Harm had to admit he felt the same, and it surprised him sometimes. He kept waiting for the fear to hit. He was getting _married_. He ought to be scared witless, but instead was filled with a kind of giddy exultation that left no room for doubt. 

His mother laughed brightly. "Harm, you know I can't begin to tell you how happy I am for you. Is there anything we can do to help?"

Harm sobered abruptly, his gut clenching. "Actually, Mom... there is."

"Name it, dear."

"Don't be so quick to agree," he cautioned her. "It's a pretty big request." He toyed uncomfortably with a magazine lying on his coffee table as he talked. "You can consider it a wedding present, if you want."

There was a pause and her voice became wary. "All right, Harm. I'm listening."

Harm braced himself. "As you know, Thanksgiving is a couple of weeks away. Mac and I are planning to make a family event of it and do the whole turkey dinner thing here at my place. Sergei and Audrey are both going to be here and..." He took a deep breath. "I'd like you and Frank to come, too."

When she didn't say anything, he went on. "The truth is that my whole family has never been in a room together, and I really don't want my wedding to be the first time that happens." He stared at his shoes. "I know it's going to be hard—for everyone—but..."

"But it would be horribly unfair to do that to you and Mac on your wedding day," his mother finished for him, her voice firm. "You're right, dear." She heaved a sigh. "I—I'll talk to Frank."

Harm closed his eyes, relieved. "Thanks, Mom. That means a lot to me."

"You're welcome, dear." He could literally hear her push the topic aside. "So, tell me more about the wedding?"

Settling himself more comfortably on the couch, Harm did so. He knew better than to push her. The fact that she had agreed to talk to Frank about it meant they would probably come. It was as much as he could hope for.


	36. 36

Chapter 36

"There. Turkey's in." Mac closed the oven door, then brushed her hands together in satisfaction. A few steps away, Harm watched with a grin. She had admitted—somewhat sheepishly—that this was the first turkey she'd ever prepared. Now that it was in the oven, she looked inordinately pleased with her accomplishment. 

Still smiling, he closed the distance to wrap both arms around her waist, drawing her in for a kiss. "For the chef."

Her oven mitts curled around the back of his neck as she returned the kiss. "I should cook more often, then."

"So, brother, should I disappear for a couple of hours?" Sergei leaned his elbows on the counter, watching them in amusement.

Without taking his eyes from Mac, Harm grabbed a piece of popcorn from a nearby bowl and threw it at his brother's head.

"Go turn on the game, will you?" he asked, laughing. Harm was doing his best to live in the moment, to enjoy every second he could of what would undoubtedly turn into a difficult day.

Sergei had brought his television with him, claiming—rightly—that a roomful of people couldn't watch football on the little nineteen-inch TV the CIA had given Harm. He flashed the two of them another grin before retreating to the living room area. A moment later, Harm heard the distinctive sound of football pre-game conversation.

"C'mon." Mac slid her hands down his arms and twined her fingers with his. With a gentle pull, she led him toward the couch.

The three of them spent an enjoyable hour until a knock at the door shattered Harm's peace. He glanced instinctively at Sergei and saw his own feelings reflected on the other man's face. Wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans, he went to open the door.

"Happy Thanksgiving, darling." Trish Burnett's cheerful smile was underlain with nervousness.

"Hi, Mom." Harm summoned a similar smile as he bent down to hug her. Frank offered his own greeting and Harm shook his hand, reassured by his stepfather's firm grip. 

"Come in." Harm stepped back, ushering them inside.

He took his mother's coat and purse as Mac came forward. "Mr. and Mrs. Burnett—" she began, but Harm's mother waved her off.

"Oh please, dear, not so formal. I refuse to have my daughter-in-law calling me Mrs. anything." Harm felt the sudden undercurrent as the two strong-willed women locked gazes.

Mac gave first. She flashed the other woman a quick smile and nodded. "All right, Trish." Her gaze went to the man standing a step beyond her. "Frank." Glancing at Harm, she turned toward the kitchen. "Can I get either of you something to drink?"

"Anything will be fine," Trish told her.

Mac looked to Frank.

"Beer, if you've got it," he answered with the calm, easygoing smile Harm remembered from many uncomfortable situations. He'd seen Frank get worked up about any number of trivial things—politics being his favorite—but when it came to family he was a rock.

Harm silently led his parents into the apartment. Sergei stood in the middle of the living room, hands shoved into his pockets and quiet terror in his eyes. Without consciously directing his steps, Harm found himself standing next to Sergei, one hand gripping his shoulder.

"Mom, Frank... this is Sergei Zhukov. Sergei, my parents."

Frank immediately stepped forward, offering his hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Sergei. Harm's told us a great deal about you."

Sergei accepted the handshake. "I am honored."

The two retreated to their original positions as silence encompassed the group. Harm watched as his mother and brother sized each other up.

Eventually, Trish broke the stalemate. "You have your father's eyes." She reached out hesitantly to brush her knuckles across Sergei's cheek. Her gaze strayed to Harm, then back. "It's amazing, really, how much you two look alike."

Squaring her shoulders, she let her hand drop. "Shall we sit? I'd like to hear all about you, Sergei."

And with that, the tension broke. Mac returned with drinks for Frank and Trish as everyone found a seat. Harm ended up in the low slung black leather chair, more to stay out of the way than anything else. It was his least favorite piece of furniture, mostly because of how poorly it treated his back. However, it matched the couch so he hadn't been able to talk himself into getting rid of it. Mac came over then and perched on his knee, distracting him from his scattered decorating thoughts.

"Did you know him at all—your father?" Trish sat on the edge of the sofa, her elbows balanced on her knees, her cup clasped in both hands.

Sergei shook his head. "Only through stories my mother told me. He died before I was born."

Harm watched his mother. She seemed carefully braced, as if she expected some wrenching pain to strike at any moment but was too curious not to continue.

"Do you know if... he was happy?"

Sergei cocked his head, his gaze reflecting a depth of perception far beyond his years. "I know he was kind and brave and selfless, and that my mother loved him very much." He shrugged uncomfortably. "But she said she would catch him sometimes, and his eyes would be on the horizon, as if he was looking toward something no one else could see. I think he missed the life he had left behind."

Harm's throat tightened with old pain, but he pushed it back. He'd spent far too much of his life dwelling on the past.

His mother glanced over at him. "Harm told me he died because he was trying to keep a young woman from being raped."

Sergei simply nodded, but Harm wasn't paying any attention any more. His vision swam, filling with a scene from memory—a Vietnamese soldier grabbing a girl by the arm and spinning her toward him, the image framed by the brackets on the lens of a rifle scope. The irony of it was... staggering, really.

Mac's hand squeezing his knee brought him back to the present. She leaned toward him, her expression warm and concerned. "You o.k.?"

He shoved the memories aside. "Yeah." Summoning a smile, he drew her more fully into his lap and hooked an arm about her waist.

"What made you decide to fly helicopters, Sergei?" The question came from Frank. Harm was startled to realize that his parents and brother seemed to be settling into something close to normal conversation.

Sergei only shrugged. "Since I was a very small boy I have wanted to fly. When I enlisted in the Army, I told that to my superiors. Helicopter pilots were much needed, so I was sent to flight school."

Trish shook her head sadly. "It really is genetic, isn't it? Flying?" 

Harm shared a look with his brother and chuckled. "It certainly seems to be. Everyone with Rabb blood for the last four generations has been a pilot."

"A military pilot, no less," Mac added. "None of this boring civilian stuff." She made a pooh-poohing gesture, her nose held high in an exaggerated expression of disdain.

Harm's mother smiled at her antics. "You're much more accepting than I ever was, Mac." She sighed and her smile dimmed. "Perhaps because you're military yourself, I suppose. But still, doesn't it frighten you?"

Mac nodded. "Scares me to death." She flashed Harm a reassuring smile. 

"If you don't mind my asking—" Trish looked toward Harm for a moment as if gauging his reaction. "How do you deal with it?" She looked back and forth between them, seeming to grow more hesitant. "I assume you two _have_ talked about this?"

Harm felt a twinge of anxiety. He'd thought these issues long since resolved, but were they, really?

Mac frowned, her head cocked in a thoughtful stance. "Harm's flying is something I accepted when I accepted this." She held up her left hand with its diamond solitaire. She stared at the ring for a moment, contemplating. "For a long time, I saw Tomcats as... my competition, I suppose. No, that's not right." She shook her head, her gaze coming to rest on Harm's face. He wasn't certain what expression he read there, only that it was honest and open.

Mac shrugged. "I saw flying as a fixture in Harm's heart, as if the fact that he loved it somehow meant there was a part of him that would never be devoted to me." She flashed a deprecating smile. "Audrey knocked that particularly stupid notion out of my head."

Sergei chuckled. "She has been... how do you say it... matchmaking?"

Harm nodded, unable to help his grin. "Yes, she has. And quite effectively, too."

Trish surprised them all with a strained chuckle. "I'll have to thank her."

As if in response to her statement, there was a quick rap on the door and then Audrey stuck her head inside. "Happy Thanksgiving, everyone." Her voice rang out cheerfully, but her expression was far less certain. The tableau froze. 

Harm nudged Mac off his lap and went to greet his daughter. "Hi, baby."

She closed the door behind her then slipped into his arms for a hug. "Hi, Dad." He could feel her trembling ever so slightly.

"It's going to be o.k.," he whispered in her ear, then raised his voice as he stepped back. "We were just discussing how effective a matchmaker you are." Keeping an arm around her waist, he led her toward the others. 

Frank and Trish both rose to their feet as they neared. Time seemed to slow for Harm, and he had to resist the urge to shield Audrey from his mother's intent stare.

After a moment that stretched to eternity, his mother's gaze flickered up to his own. "She's beautiful, Harm."

She turned back to Audrey with a fleeting smile. "I was just telling the others that I would have to thank you for whatever you did to bring these two together." One hand fluttered between Harm and Mac. "So... thank you."

Audrey shrugged, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I didn't do all that much." She glanced at Harm. "I just want my father to be happy."

Harm saw his mother's expression soften by a degree. "Then you and I share something very important, dear." 

Audrey nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Trish shook her head, her voice once again strained. "Please. 'Ma'am' makes me feel so old."

A strained silence fell between the two women, which Audrey finally broke.

"You really don't like anything about me, do you?" The words were spoken in Audrey's calm, straightforward manner, but Harm knew her well enough to hear the hurt behind them. He sucked in his breath in dismay.

Trish's gaze clouded. "It's not that. It's not—" One hand flew to her mouth. She flashed Harm a helpless look. "Excuse me. I need some air." With that, she turned and rushed away, toward the doorway leading onto Harm's small patio.

"_Mom!_" Fury swept through him. How could she be so cruel? He turned to go after her but Mac stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"I'll go." She glanced beyond him to where Audrey stood frozen, her dark eyes full of pain. "I'm least involved, and Audrey needs you right now."

He opened his mouth to protest but Mac cut him off with a warning look. "I can handle your mother, Harm."

Knowing she was right, he nodded. Mac stroked his shirt in a reassuring gesture before turning away. She headed across the apartment toward the patio door with swift strides. Harm turned toward his daughter, only to find her engulfed in Frank's arms. Frank was talking quietly to her, the rise and fall of his voice infinitely comforting.

Not for the first time, Harm realized just how much Frank had become the cornerstone of their family. His quiet strength and endless patience were the supports that held them together. He was everything a father was supposed to be, everything Harm hoped he could someday be in that role.

Then the full truth hit him. _He's_ my_ father. _His second one, admittedly, but no less legitimate for that reason. Strangely, the thought made him smile.

#

Mac wasn't sure what to expect when she stepped out onto the tiny patio. Harm's mother was an unknown quantity to her. Despite her claim to Harm a few moments earlier, she truly had no idea how she was going to "handle" Trish.

The bright sunshine did little to warm the thin November air. Mac shivered, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill. Trish stood at the railing, facing outward, her shoulders hunched and shaking. At first, Mac thought she was shivering but when she approached she heard broken, sporadic sobs.

"Trish?"

Trish started and glanced quickly at Mac. "Oh, it's you, dear." She looked away. "I was afraid Harm was coming out to yell at me."

Mac blinked. "I can't imagine Harm being that disrespectful."

Trish dabbed at her nose with one sleeve. "Oh, he can be... if I push hard enough. We've gotten into a quite few rows over the years. He got that mulish streak from me, you know." Once again she glanced in Mac's direction. "His father was always so easygoing." She fell silent, her gaze fastened on her hands.

Mac went to stand beside her at the railing. She found herself twisting her Marine Corp ring on her finger. She was unused to wearing it on her right hand still. Finally, she sighed.

"Why won't you talk to Audrey?"

Trish's fingers tightened on the railing until the knuckles turned white. "Shame, I think."

Mac hadn't expected that answer. Her brow dipped. "What do you have to be ashamed of?"

Trish laughed, the sound tinged with hysteria. "I wouldn't know where to start." Abruptly she straightened and wiped her face with both hands, running her fingers through her hair. She breathed deeply, forming plumes in front of her face. 

"Sergei's a wonderful young man, isn't he?" Trish turned to lean one hip against the rail, wrapping her arms around herself to keep warm.

Uncertain what to make of the sudden change of topic, Mac could only follow along. "Yes, he is."

"Harm—my Harm—would have loved him so much." She stared unseeing at the ground.

"I'm sure he would." Mac had the feeling they were edging very carefully around something, but what, she couldn't have said.

Trish scuffed her shoe on the patio cement. "The thing is... Sergei said—he said Harm was always looking into the distance, like he missed us..." She closed her eyes, her voice falling. "Like he missed me."

Mac watched her profile, noting the lines that pain and worry had etched into her face over the years. And guilt, perhaps? Knowing how deeply this subject had wounded Harm, she decided to hazard a guess. 

"Do you think you did something wrong by getting married again?"

Trish quickly shook her head. "No, no. Frank is the best thing that ever happened to me." Her voice thickened as tears filled her eyes. "I never looked back. I think—no, I'm _afraid_—that Harm loved me more than I ever loved him. He would have come home if he could."

Mac licked her lips, not knowing how to respond. 

"Don't you see?" Trish stared straight ahead, her expression ashen. "I love Frank—the way you love my son, I love him. And not a single day has passed that I haven't wished—" Her voice broke on a sob. She closed her eyes, turning away.

Hesitantly, Mac reached for the other woman, but then let her hand fall. "You haven't wished what?" she asked softly.

Tears streamed down Trish's face, falling, unnoticed, from her cheeks to splatter on her sweater. Her voice came out in a strained whisper. 

"That I haven't wished I had met Frank first."

Mac had hardly begun to understand the enormity of the admission when the dam burst. Trish's words began to spill out in a torrent.

"It's all my fault, Mac." She waved one arm in the general direction of Harm's living room. "All I wanted was for us to be a family. Neither Frank or I cared that Harm wasn't his son—we loved him like he was ours. But Harm cared. It mattered to _him_, and I wouldn't listen. I kept pushing and pushing—trying to get him to let go of his father because then I thought we could be a family together. But everything I did just made him cling tighter, and that just made me angrier at him." 

She drew a deep shuddering breath. "Frank once offered to help Harm make some contacts in the government, to see if he could get any information that way, and I wouldn't let him. I told Harm to forget about finding his father." She shook her head in muted horror. "He was fourteen years old, and I looked him in the face and told him there was nothing he could do, and he should just forget about his father."

Straightening, Trish turned to face Mac fully for the first time since the conversation had begun. White-hot agony shone from her eyes. "He went to Vietnam because of me. Everything that happened to my baby in that horrible place is because of _me_!"

Trish swayed on her feet, and Mac jumped forward to grab her before she could collapse. She held on tightly as Harm's mother sagged in her arms, wracked with sobs. It no longer surprised her that Trish couldn't face Audrey—she was a living reminder of everything Harm had suffered for the sake of finding his father. Quietly, Mac stroked her hair, letting her cry out the years of guilt and pain.

Eventually, the tears eased but neither woman moved to pull away. It wasn't until they both realized they were huddled against each other, shivering in the cold, that the moment broke. They separated, laughing and chafing their hands.

As the brief levity faded, Mac reached over and laid her hand on Trish's forearm. 

"I don't entirely know how Harm feels about his trip to Vietnam, but I do know that he wouldn't have become the person he is if he hadn't gone," she told her. "And Audrey wouldn't even exist, which would be tragic in its own way." 

Trish busied herself wiping away the evidence of tears off her face. 

"Is she really as lovely as Harm says?" she asked after a moment, honest curiosity in her voice.

Smiling, Mac jerked her head towards the door. "Why don't you go find out?"


	37. 37

Chapter 37

Harm tensed as his patio door slid open and his mother stepped inside. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her nose cherry, but he didn't know whether to put that down to emotion or to the biting cold outside. Mac came in a step behind her. Immediately, his eyes sought his fiancée's, searching for some indication of what to expect. Mac gave him a brief, reassuring nod.

Despite that, Harm placed himself a half-step in front of Audrey, unconsciously shielding her with his body as his mother slowly approached. Frank and Sergei flanked her, offering silent support.

Trish stopped in front of him, her expression composed. Harm had no idea what was going on behind the sea-blue eyes.

"Harm, dear..." Her voice held a rough, emotion-laden note. "I've been inexcusably rude. Would you please do me the honor of introducing me to your daughter?" 

He gave his mother a wary look. The high-society manners couldn't mask her ragged edge, nor the steel note that had underlain her request. He debated for a long second before acquiescing. 

He turned, allowing his mother and Audrey to face each other directly.

"Mom, this is my daughter, Audrey Le. Audrey, your grandmother." The last was a dig, but he was tired of his mother's avoidance.

Neither woman paid him much attention. Their gazes had locked.

Audrey slowly shook her head, the veiled hurt in her expression becoming more pronounced. "Why do you hate me so much?"

"Oh, my dear girl..." Trish's eyes filled with remorseful tears. "I don't hate you. Not at all." Her gaze faltered. "What I _have_ done is to take out my self-loathing on you, and for that I am truly sorry."

"Mom, what are you talking about?" He had never heard his mother express any kind of regret for the past or the course her life had taken.

She shook her head. "Face it, Harm. In some ways, I was a terrible mother to you."

"_What?_" Shock made his voice harsh, and in response her expression hardened.

"What kind of mother so thoroughly alienates her son that, by the time he turned sixteen, going to a foreign country and learning how to kill people seemed preferable to living at home?"

For a moment, Harm could only stare. "It wasn't like that," he finally protested.

Her gaze rose to his, sharp and challenging. "Wasn't it? Isn't that what you did over there, Harm?" 

__

Other than fathering a child, that is, he added, but didn't voice the sarcastic comment aloud.

"I am neither deaf nor stupid," his mother continued, her voice growing more heated. "I heard what that man from the State Department said when they brought you back." Now her gaze jumped to Frank. "'Get the kid a psychiatrist'," she mimicked in a falsely bland voice. "'Or send him off to Marine sniper school. They know how to handle the type.'" She turned back to Harm. "I have never asked what that man meant—"

"I made six kills with seven shots." Harm had no idea what prompted him to say the words. Behind his eyes, the aerial photo Clay had shown him flickered to life. 

His mother stared at him in surprise, mouth working soundlessly.

He shrugged. "That's what he was talking about." 

The crushing silence that followed his revelation endured until Trish found her voice. She turned slowly, sinking into the nearest chair as if her legs would no longer hold her, then looked up at Harm. "I always knew, I think... something in your eyes, when you came home..."

Harm found his ire rising. "Mom, stop. It wasn't a murder spree or anything, o.k.?" _And they weren't the first_. Of course, the few others had been the result of the sporadic firefights they'd encountered on the trails of Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos, not a deliberate action taken when his own life wasn't in immediate danger. 

His mother fluttered one hand. "I don't understand how you can be so cavalier, Harm." She looked away. 

"They were raping a twelve-year-old girl." 

His mother's head snapped around, her eyes wide.

Sighing, Harm found a seat across from her. It seemed it had finally come time to tell this story. "She and her younger sister did laundry for the soldiers at an army installation where we'd heard they were storing prisoner-of-war records," he explained quietly. Around them, the others quickly found places. Harm was aware of Mac settling beside him, her hand warm on his thigh.

"Hoa and Truc were our main sources of information about the site—layout, guard locations, schedule. Their mother had been killed about a year earlier—shot by one of the Army officers. The girls never knew why, but they were more than happy to help a couple of Americans if it would get back at the Vietnamese soldiers. Truc was only nine, so on the day we were going to go in Hoa made her stay at home. She didn't want to risk her getting hurt." Before Harm's eyes, his living room faded away, replaced by the humid jungle of his memory.

"The plan was for Hoa to go about her normal routine, collecting the laundry, until she had a chance to unlock the utility gate on the back side of the installation. Stryker would go in through the gate and make his way to the warehouses where we thought the records were probably being kept. I was up on a nearby ridge to provide cover." He paused. With little effort at all, he could recall that day in every detail—the weathered, tin-roofed buildings down below, the dappled sunlight falling through the leaves around him, birds chirping and cawing. A line of red ants had crawled past his nose where he'd lain in the soft humus, his chin propped atop the hi-power Browning rifle Stryker had procured. 

"You said you thought there were records in Vietnam that might have shown that your father had been taken to the Soviet Union." Frank's voice was calm and tinged with curiosity.

Harm answered with a nod. "Yes. I got confirmation a couple of weeks ago that our intel was correct. It was their POW records repository. Whether the information there could have led to Dad being found or released..." He shrugged.

"What happened?" His mother asked in a frightened voice. Harm looked at her, finding a surprising amount of comprehension in her eyes. More than anyone but Mac, perhaps, she had seen how much the search for his father had consumed him. She understood how much losing an opportunity to find him had hurt. She reached over to pat his knee. "I promised I would listen, Harm."

Oddly bolstered, he continued. "Everything was going as planned. Stryker had gotten inside and was working his way toward the target. I stayed on him for the most part since that was my job, but every so often I'd sweep the rest of the compound just to make sure there wasn't trouble brewing somewhere else."

Harm leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor. "I heard a commotion start up on the far side of the installation—several voices, laughter. When I checked it out, I saw Hoa surrounded by a group of soldiers. They were harassing her, being crude... pretty standard stuff. I remember one of them grabbing her arm. The magnification on the rifle scope made it seem like I was standing about ten feet away." He remembered Hoa dropping the pile of laundry into the mud as the soldier spun her around to face him. Her face had filled with a combination of indignation and fear.

"Something made me turn back to check on Stryker—a sound, maybe, or just a sense. He'd gotten hung up trying to get past the front gate. The soldiers were supposed to be watching the gate, but either because they could hear what was going on at the other end or for some other reason, they were facing the wrong way. Colonel Stryker was pretty well pinned down.

"Then Hoa screamed." The sound had pierced his heart and scraped his nerves raw. His throat tried to close up at the memory, but he forced himself to keep talking. "By the time I found her again, one of the soldiers was on top of her." Having discovered the joy of a woman's pleasure only a few weeks earlier, he'd been totally unprepared for the brutality of rape. Particularly against someone like Hoa, whose straight hips and newly-budded breasts marked her as still a child.

Adrenaline tingled through Harm. His hands closed into fists as Mac's grip on his leg tightened. "I would have put a bullet in him then and there, but the angle was bad. Chances are, anything that hit him would have gone straight through and killed her, too." He glanced over at Mac. "And I kept thinking, 'I can't pull the trigger. This is our one chance, and Stryker hasn't even gotten inside yet.'"

Mac watched him appraisingly. "But you shot him anyway." There was no condemnation in her gaze, or even surprise.

Harm nodded. "The minute he stood up." The soldier hadn't even had time to button his trousers. He remembered Hoa curled up on the ground at the man's feet, sobbing, her skirt streaked with blood. "The next guy in line had already started undoing his belt. I dropped him, too." He let his gaze fall. "Then they started to scatter and go for their weapons. I got two more, missed the third, and had to reload." The Browning BAR had a five round magazine.

"Stryker was smart. The minute he heard shots he figured the op was blown. He made a break for the main gate since that was the closest exit. He took out the two sentries in the guard shack to clear his way, but he couldn't see the soldiers who were climbing onto the roof of the building nearest the gate. I shot the first two to make it up there, but then somebody got on the fifty-cal by the gate—it wasn't manned during the day—and started chewing up my ridge top." A bullet had slammed into the ground a couple of inches in front of his face, spraying him with dirt. "I got out of there."

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "When I caught up with Stryker, he was only a couple hundred yards away from the compound. He'd taken a round in the leg that was slowing him down. We ended up in a running firefight trying to get away—" He shook his head. "I don't think the Vietnamese soldiers realized there were only the two of us. They were a lot more cautious than they needed to be. We were able to hold them off until the CIA put together an extraction." At the surprised looks he received, he shrugged and added, "It would have turned into a major international incident if the Vietnamese caught us, so they had a vested interest in getting us out of there."

Sergei leaned back in his chair as Harm concluded, shaking his head ruefully. "I think you missed your true calling, Brother. You should have been.." He searched for words. "Light infantry, yes?"

Harm blinked at him, startled by his lack of reaction. "I don't think you're following me, Sergei. I blew the one chance we had to maybe prove Dad had been taken to the Soviet Union. I know there's no way to know what might have happened then, but—" He sought out his brother's unflinching gaze. "He might not have died. You might have gotten to know him. He might even have gotten to come back to the States eventually."

Sergei shrugged. "And the government might have killed him to keep the world from ever finding the truth, and I might never have existed." The younger man cocked his head. "These are not thoughts to dwell on, Brother. They will twist your brain into knots."

Harm stared at him in consternation. "Sergei—"

"Harm." Mac cut him off with firm precision. "You said it yourself. There's no way to know what might have happened." She cocked her head, studying him. "This explains an awful lot about you, though—why you never back down when it comes to protecting an innocent, no matter what the personal cost." Suddenly Harm felt like she was looking straight through him, down to the depths of his psyche where even he didn't understand his inner workings. Her tone became thoughtful. "It has to be worth it, doesn't it... defending that girl, and every single thing you've done since then..." She seemed to be voicing her thoughts even as she organized them herself. "Because, on some level, you traded your father's life for them."

His mother gasped in sudden understanding. "Oh, Harm."

He tore his gaze away from Mac and turned to Trish, words locked in his throat. He'd never realized it before, but Mac's analysis was dead on. Every flash of anger, every cold silence from his mother about Vietnam had gone into him like a knife, punishing him for his choice—making him wonder if she would have hated him less had he taken the other route and brought his father home.

A moment later, his mother was on her knees in front of him, her arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hug. "Harm, I'm so sorry." Her voice was a feathery sob against his shoulder.

"It wasn't your fault," he answered.

"I shouldn't have made you deal with it alone."

Harm blinked hard against the tears that threatened to form. "Did I—Did I do the right thing, Mom?"

Her fingers stroked the short hair on the back of his head. "Oh, baby... Of course you did." She squeezed him tight, her fierce pride clearly audible. "Of course you did."

And with that, the last of Harm's heavy burdens lifted. He let out his breath in a long sigh, content in his mother's arms for the first time in more than twenty years.

#

Later, Audrey found an excuse to putter around in the kitchen, at a distance, but not entirely removed from, the quiet conversation going on in the living room. She'd needed some time to digest her father's story, his reason for leaving her mother without warning and without a single word of farewell. She couldn't resent him for the choice, any more than she could have stood by and watched a gang rape without trying to help had she been in his place. But understanding that and actually letting _go_ of the emotions that had become so much a part of her were two entirely different things. She felt vaguely ashamed that she couldn't just wipe her feelings away.

"Need some help, dear?"

Audrey looked up to see her grandmother hovering near the end of the kitchen counter as if waiting for permission to enter.

She bit her lip. "Um... sure. I'm just cutting up some fruit and cheese. I thought people might want something more substantial than popcorn to snack on. Mac says dinner won't be ready until 5:00."

Slipping up beside her, Trish pulled out a cutting board and a knife and went to work on the handful of apples Audrey had selected. 

"Do you and Mac get along?" Trish asked casually, sticking an apple slice in her mouth and biting off a piece.

Audrey shrugged. "Well enough, I guess." She glanced over at her grandmother just long enough to catch her gaze. "We're trying."

Trish either didn't catch or chose to ignore the subtle jab. "That's good. I... don't actually know her that well." She gestured with the knife. "I mean, Harm's been talking about her for years, but this is only the second time we've met in person. And the first was a passing introduction at his office. Now they're getting married—" She stopped abruptly and sighed. "I'm realizing that, except for my husband, I don't know anyone in my family very well." Her gaze touched Audrey's, then swept across the four people in the living room.

Audrey paused, resting one hand on her hip as she studied her grandmother. "This isn't what you wanted, is it?"

Trish raised her eyebrows at the blunt question, but her answer was equally honest. "No."

Audrey looked over at her father, then back to Trish. "It's not what I wanted, either." Her lips quirked. "But then, if I'd gotten what _I_ wanted, your son would have gotten married at seventeen to a Vietnamese refugee who didn't speak a word of English." 

"Seventeen?" Trish snorted. "No offense to your mother, dear, but I doubt she'd have been able to handle him at that age."

Audrey bit her lip on a laugh. "Maybe not."

"Of course, I would have been there to help keep him in line..." Trish shrugged, her expression distant. "I can hardly imagine how different that would have been."

Audrey could only nod. She suspected her own imaginings were far more naively optimistic than her grandmother's.

They worked side by side in companionable silence for several minutes.

"So... Harm says you're planning to become a pilot?"

Audrey looked down at her hands. She understood instinctively how difficult it was for this woman to reach out to her.

"This summer. I'm headed for flight school once I graduate."

Her grandmother sighed. "I suppose I speak from experience when I say I know you'll be good at it."

"...Thank you." Feeling awkward, Audrey didn't look over at her.

Trish set her knife down with a soft clatter and caught Audrey's hand in her own. "Just promise me you'll be careful, dear. I've sat by enough hospital beds to last me a lifetime already."

Startled, Audrey flashed her grandmother a timid smile. "I will."

Trish patted her hand. "Good. That's all I can ask."


	38. 38

Chapter 38

After a brief knock, A.J. Chegwidden stuck his head inside the small conference room at the Hay-Adams hotel in downtown Washington D.C. Two men in dress whites and one in a white tuxedo looked up at his entrance. Bud, Sturgis and Sergei were gathered around a service cart equipped with coffee and pastries. A few feet away, Harm paced in a tight circle, head down as he muttered to himself. He gave no indication that he'd noticed his commanding officer's entrance.

"How's he doing?" A.J. asked, jerking his head in the commander's direction as he approached the trio.

"He's making traps, sir." Bud glanced over at Harm before returning his attention to A.J. "In his head. For a while he was doing pre-flight and landing checklists, but now he keeps talking about calling the ball and glideslope and such."

A.J. raised a telling eyebrow, but Sturgis shrugged off his concern. "It's just nerves, Admiral. I'm sure he's fine."

"I'm sure he is," A.J. agreed dryly. He wandered over to Harm's corner of the room and paused to watch him.

"Commander Rabb!"

At his sharp bark, the commander swung around in surprise, then snapped to attention. "Sir! I... didn't see you come in."

A.J. waved him down, unable to help his smirk at the younger man's uncharacteristic obliviousness. It was somehow reassuring to discover the unflappable Harmon Rabb undone on his wedding day. 

A.J. crossed his arms, rocking back on his heels. "How are you holding up, son?"

"Fine, sir." At his sides, Harm's fingers twitched as if he wasn't quite capable of holding still.

"So the mental flight exercises aren't prelude to a general panic?"

Harm managed to look affronted. "Absolutely not, sir." His chagrin gave way to a sheepish grin. "I just... never get nauseous in the air." He glanced at his watch and back to A.J. "Do you know what's taking so long, Admiral?"

A.J. chuckled and shook his head. "Some sort of problem with Mac's wardrobe. Last I heard, Frank was taking Harriet to get a replacement—of what, I couldn't begin to tell you. I decided I was better off not knowing."

Harm flashed him a grin. "Probably a wise choice." After a moment, he settled his weight on the edge of one of the tables that filled the room and stared at the floor.

"Harm, would you like some coffee?" Sturgis offered after a moment.

Harm shook his head. "The last thing I need right now is caffeine, buddy."

"There's decaf, sir," Bud supplied helpfully.

Harm rolled his eyes. "I'd probably spill it," he muttered low enough that only A.J. heard him. Then he raised his voice to a conversational level. "No thanks, Bud."

Shifting his weight uncomfortably, A.J. searched for a topic that might serve to distract the commander from the torture of waiting.

"I got final confirmation yesterday afternoon on Mac's transfer." He paused as Harm's head came up, his expression sharpening with interest. Harm had been adamant about making sure Mac didn't take a significant career hit because of his choice to become the _Seahawk's _new XO.

"Where is she going?" 

"Norfolk NJS."

Harm stared at him in surprise. "Really? The Naval Justice School?"

A.J. nodded, unable to completely hide his smile. He was inordinately pleased by the way things had worked out, and it had cost him fewer favors than expected. The Colonel's reputation as a trial lawyer had opened a couple of doors all on its own.

"They needed an instructor for their Advanced Trial Advocacy class, among others."

Harm grinned. "Mac'll be great at that."

"I agree, and a couple of years as an instructor could be a very good thing for her career, as well as her... family aspirations." 

Harm chuckled, sounding just a bit embarrassed. His laughter died, however, as the door opened and Frank Burnett stuck his head into the room. "It's time, gentlemen," he said with a smile. His gaze swept the room, coming to rest on A.J.

"The bride is looking for you, Admiral." 

A.J. nodded. "I guess that's my cue." He clapped Harm on the shoulder. "I'll see you in a few minutes, Commander."

"Thank you, sir," he answered, the blue eyes momentarily rooting A.J. in place with their piercing intensity. "For everything."

A.J.'s heart swelled with a combination of affection and pride. He couldn't have been happier had it been his own child who was getting married. 

"You're welcome, Harm," he answered softly.

#

"Commander, you may kiss your bride." Chaplain Turner's rich voice echoed in Mac's ears, barely heard through the pounding of her blood. She looked up into Harm's face, feeling the new weight of the gold band on her finger.

His smile glowed. "Are you ready for this, Marine?" he asked, a hint of wicked humor intertwined with the joy in his eyes.

Mac grinned back. "Bring it on, Navy." She reached up, curling her arms around his neck as he leaned down to give her a stunning, wildfire kiss. Whistles and catcalls filled the room, primarily from Harm's pilot friends, and that, in turn, brought laughter from the remainder of the audience.

Mac hardly noticed. The desire she had kept so carefully tucked away strained now at the limit of its leash, begging for release. Only the room full of people watching them kept her from setting it free. Instead of pursuing him as his mouth relinquished hers, she reluctantly uncoiled her arms from around his neck and let them fall to her sides.

Harm immediately caught her hand in his. His blue eyes had darkened to the color of the deepest ocean, his gaze threatening to drown her entirely. Mac tore herself away as they turned to face the room.

Immediately she felt Harm's breath in her ear. "I love you, Sarah."

She looked up at him only to lose herself in his dazzling smile, and in the process missing Chaplain Turner's introduction of them as husband and wife. The room broke into thunderous applause as the recessional music started up. Mac gathered up her flowing skirt in one hand and let Harm help her down the shallow steps from the dais. She caught glimpses of Frank and Trish on one side of the aisle and Admiral Chegwidden on the other—all of them with suspiciously moist eyes and broad grins.

Harm squeezed her hand. Together they walked down the center of the room, pushing through the doors at the back and into the vast, empty foyer beyond. The sudden silence came as a physical shock. For a moment they just stood there. Then, as if on cue, they burst into laughter. 

Harm swept her up into a huge hug, literally pulling her off her feet as he swung her around. "Hey, we did it."

"You don't have to sound so surprised," she teased him.

He set her back on the ground, his expression sobering. "It's not surprise," he assured her. "Awe, maybe?" He looked up, over her head for a moment, his gaze distant. "When I think about what it took to get to this point—" His expression cleared and he focused on her face once more. "Let's just say I understand how truly fortunate I am."

#

"All right, gentlemen, you can take a seat." The photographer was a young man with a surprisingly professional demeanor. He waved toward the front row of chairs in the now emptied room where the ceremony had taken place. Most of the guests had gone down the hall to the ballroom, where the reception had already started. Party members, family, and friends who were involved in the wedding pictures took up a few scattered seats. Under Tiner's watchful gaze, little A.J. ran between the rows of chairs, a toy truck in either hand.

"Let's have the ladies now. Bride and wedding party first, please." The photographer continued to give direction as Mac, Harriet, Audrey and Chloe rose and went to take their places.

Harm was more than happy to grab a seat for a few minutes. It also gave him a chance to talk to Frank, something he wanted to do before the opportunity got away from him. Going to a small pile of personal effects that had accumulated against the back wall, he retrieved a wrapped package he had put together a couple of days earlier. With all the last-minute wedding preparations, there had never seemed to be an appropriate time to give the gift to his stepfather.

"Here, Frank. This is for you." Returning, he awkwardly held the package out.

Frank looked up at him, surprised, then down to the present, which was tastefully wrapped in green and gold. He accepted it after a moment and waved Harm to the empty seat beside him.

"What's the occasion, son?"

Harm shrugged, but forced himself to hold the other man's gaze. "It's high time I said thank-you." He glanced toward the dais, where his wife and the photographer were fussing over the fall of her slender skirt. "None of this would be happening if it weren't for you."

Frank's brow dipped. "If you mean the hotel, I was more than happy—"

Harm shook his head. "That's not what I meant, though we definitely appreciate that, too." Putting the wedding together in such a short time, particularly given the season, had made it challenging to find a location. The Hay-Adams was one of D.C.'s premier hotels, and it had taken Frank's considerable pull, not to mention his prestigious pocketbook, to make it happen.

"Just open it." Harm gestured to the gift.

Seeming to recognize the significance of the moment, Frank turned to the package without further comment. He pulled off the paper to reveal a plain brown box, which he opened with a curious glance in Harm's direction.

Inside, the box was filled with greeting card envelopes in a neat stack. Each had a year written on the outside of the envelope. The first one said '1975'.

Frank's brow crinkled as he picked up the envelope. "That was the year your mother and I married."

"Yes." Harm had been eleven years old then.

Eyebrows rising, Frank tore the flap open and extracted the card. It was a fairly ordinary thing, covered in cartoon baseball mitts, puppy dogs and other symbols of boyhood. It was exactly the kind of thing an eleven-year-old would pick out on Father's Day, and the verse on the front began simply with 'Dad'.

Frank looked up at Harm with confusion and just a hint of wonder in his eyes.

Harm shrugged, feeling unaccountably self-conscious. "I can't remember ever giving you one of these before. I... can't change the past, but I hope you'll let me try to make up for it."

Frank's smile was all the answer he needed. "Of course," Frank told him before turning his attention back to the card in his hands.

Harm waited quietly while he read. On the inside of the card, as with each of the others, Harm had recounted some memory he had from that particular year—some way in which Frank had touched his life, shaped his character, or taught him something he would later find himself grateful to have learned. It had been surprisingly easy to find something to write in each card, and in the midst of putting the gift together it had struck Harm just how much of Frank he saw reflected in himself. 

Frank finished reading the card and slowly closed it. "Thank you, son," he said softly.

Harm nodded just as the photographer called his name. He reached over and briefly grasped Frank's hand. "Don't feel like you have to read the rest of these now." He indicated the pile of envelopes.

Frank chuckled, his voice a touch unsteady. "Yes, I think I'd best wait until I have some more privacy."

Smiling, Harm stood and went to join Mac.

#

"You know, no one tells you that once you put a wedding dress on you're not allowed to go to the bathroom anymore." 

Standing just outside the open stall door with Mac's long veil cradled in her hands, Audrey grinned. Despite the fact that the bride had chosen a dress without ruffles or petticoats of any kind, keeping the long silk train out of danger still required at least one additional person—in this case, Harriet. Audrey was just providing moral support.

The two women emerged after a minute, and Audrey joined them in the painstaking process of fluffing skirts and getting Mac's headpiece and veil resettled on her head. 

"Once the pictures are done, though, this thing _goes_." Mac grimaced as she made a final adjustment to the veil. 

Outside the bathroom door, they heard the distinctive sound of little A.J. pounding down the hallway at a full run, giggling breathlessly as only a child could.

Harriet cocked her head, a smile forming on her face. "I think I'd better go check on that." She slipped out the door in a flash of long red skirts, leaving Audrey alone with her new stepmother.

Watching Mac adjust her dress, Audrey found it hard to resent her for her happiness. 

"Congratulations, Mac," she said before she'd consciously commanded her mouth to form the words. "I'm very happy for you."

Mac paused, her head coming up. Their gazes met in the gilt-framed mirror, silently weighing each other and their new relationship. 

"Thank you." Despite the solemn words, a slow smile lit Mac's face. She turned to face Audrey directly. "And I really mean that. I don't think I could possibly tell you how thankful I am—" She gestured with both hands as if trying to express something she could find no words for.

Audrey wasn't sure how to respond. Surely her sporadic matchmaking efforts hadn't had that much impact.

"For what?" she finally asked, deciding on the direct approach.

Mac clasped her hands in front of her, long fingers toying with her wedding ring. Her expression was surprisingly warm. "Just for being you. Harm—" She looked down at the ground for a moment, then returned her gaze to Audrey's. "I think Harm needed to love you before he could... let himself... love me."

Audrey hardly had time to absorb the statement before Mac went on. "Everything changed the day Harm learned he had a daughter. At first, I was afraid that having you in his life would mean he didn't really need me any more. But it wasn't like that at all." She took a deep breath. "I'm not sure how, Audrey, but somehow you brought this whole family together... and I'm just glad that I get to be part of it, too."

Audrey blinked hard against the sudden mist that filled her vision. They had so much in common, she and Mac. And now they had both found the family they so deeply desired... with her dad, and perhaps even each other.

It still wouldn't be easy—Audrey knew that. But she was also certain that, no matter how hard it became, fighting for her family would always be worthwhile. She met Mac's dark gaze and realized the other woman understood exactly how she felt.

Smiling softly, Mac caught her hand. "Come on. There's one more picture we have to get."

#

"Guess what, everyone?" The photographer straightened from behind his camera. "We're done."

"Oh, thank goodness." A step above Harm, his mother breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief. Around them, the other members of the extended Rabb family laughed.

They were all arrayed on the stairs for the last of the pictures, a family photo whose existence was far more profound than the photographer would ever know. For a moment, no one moved to disperse. The laughter died as they looked at each other, recognizing how close they'd drawn—this group of disparate people who had nothing in common except their acceptance, their love, and the blood of a man named Rabb.

"Trish, look." Mac's hushed voice rang in the silence that had fallen on them. She sounded amazed.

Trish laid a hand on Harm's shoulder as she leaned around him to look at Mac. "What is it, dear?"

Mac glanced at Harm, then over at his mother. "At Thanksgiving, you told me all you ever wanted was to be a family... and _look_." She waved her cascading bouquet, a small gesture that encompassed the group standing there.

Harm felt his mother's hand tighten on his shoulder and reached up to cover it with his own. Trust Mac to say what he was thinking with such eloquence.

Trish looked the group over with bright eyes, her gaze eventually coming to rest on him. A stray tear decorated her cheek, which he wiped away.

"Don't cry, Mom."

She laughed and wagged a finger at him. "I'm happy, dearest. You can't stop me." Her humor died quickly, leaving something weighty, but infinitely joyful, in its wake. "It's all right to be happy now, isn't it?" She brushed his cheek with the back of one hand as she searched his face.

Harm nodded, a lump rising in his throat. For so many years, the joy of living had seemed like a betrayal of the man who couldn't share it with them. But the truth was that losing his father had, in its own strange way, enriched his life beyond anything he could have imagined.

Smiling, he took her hand in his. "Yes, it is."

THE END 


End file.
